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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463170">burn in it all day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower'>pixiepower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, Hook-Up, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, a truly unhinged amount of background crossover pairs, noise band au, surprise! it’s tender horny, van sex, yoon jeonghan throwing stones from his glass house</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:34:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeonghan is pretty sure that there’s a handbook he wrote when he was in university, where rule number one is you aren’t supposed to give your number to boys you hook up with, especially an — <em>ugh</em> — boy in a noise band.</p><p>Even if said boy can take or leave the noise and is just having fun with his friends.</p><p>Maybe that makes it worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Yoon Jeonghan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Stupid Cupid FicFest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>burn in it all day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanymalik/gifts">zanymalik</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from “no control” by one direction. if you know, you know.</p><p>written for the 2020 stupid cupid fic fest! <em><b>prompt:</b> secret dating! a classic! both seem determined to keep it a secret from even their members, which is probably the hardest part of all because their members are getting some Vibes and are probably all wrong about what's going on. idolverse or aus are cool! as horny and/or tender as you want!</em></p><p>this is for you, kayla! i hope it’s everything you imagined.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Please tell me there isn’t another one of these. This is why when you tell me the show’s at eight I roll up at nine,” Jeonghan shouts into Seungcheol’s ear.</p><p>This band sounds like a <em> Spooky Scary Sounds of the Haunted House </em>record that someone got from the thrift store and played at two-times speed with no regard for the scratches. Everyone is yelling, it’s unintelligible, and Jeonghan really needs another beer.</p><p>“We’re in three. Two more, then us,” Seungcheol hollers back. The power of biceps alone is not enough to prevent Seungcheol’s sleeves from coming unrolled. He should just cut them off like Joshua does. He’s not going to be able to get the smell out, anyway. It’s a show shirt now. “You just like to take naps after work and always assume I’m going to save you a spot!”</p><p>Yeah, so? “Because you always save me a spot! When you don’t I always end up with hands on my ass trying to get up front,” Jeonghan bites, fishing in Seungcheol’s back pocket for his wallet.</p><p>“That wouldn’t happen if you were here earlier, you know.”</p><p>“Or if I were less hot. Two impossibilities, Cheollie.” His breath fans humid against Seungcheol’s cheek, and Jeonghan pats it in with one prim hand, the other holding his wallet between his first and middle fingers. “Your PIN still 0717?”</p><p>Wincing, Seungcheol sinks his teeth into Jeonghan’s shoulder, hard.</p><p>“Thought so.”</p><p>Jeonghan has to give it to the current band, at least, for inventing a new genre. It’s like when a scientist names a new snail after themself; they are at liberty to call this seven-layer-dip of MIDI-mumble rap-Halloween-death metal-EDM-growling-dance-<em> something </em>whatever they like. That is a feat unto itself, surely.</p><p>But fuck, their music is… not good.</p><p>You can just give any man an instrument and they’ll do this, huh? Why are men like this? Where are the women? At least when Seungkwan drags him out of the house it’s for something that doesn’t wear Jeonghan’s patience thin, like a drag show or that rookie girl group showcase.</p><p>But he is here to support his friends, whom he loves and adores and who actually know what they’re doing when they get onstage, so Jeonghan can push through the high school kids figuring themselves out (bearable, endearing, sometimes to the point of being impressive) and the grimy men who think they’re God’s gift to music (horrifying, exhausting, and disappointing, but not surprising) in order to get there.</p><p>A blissfully grope-less journey later and Jeonghan is leaning up against the bar, shot glass of grapefruit soju in hand to wash the beer taste out of his mouth and stretching his jaw out to try and pop his ears, the gentle thrum of whatever’s on the AUX between sets a blessed reprieve from Music’s Newest Concept — not their name, as far as Jeonghan knows, but he honestly couldn’t make any promises either way.</p><p>“Myungho-yah,” Jeonghan calls, waving Seungcheol’s card toward the register side of the bar. “Can I put down for another right now?”</p><p>Minghao runs someone else’s card and looks at Jeonghan with a wry grin. “Does hyung know he’s tab?”</p><p>In response, Jeonghan just wraps his lips around the mouth of the beer bottle with intention and bats his eyelashes at Minghao, who rolls his eyes goodnaturedly and pours him another.</p><p>“Don’t let Wonwoo-hyung see you do that.”</p><p>“Wonu and Cheol still fooling around, but aren’t together anymore. Now where have I heard that one before?”</p><p>Minghao snorts. <em> “Geonbae, </em> huh?”</p><p>“You’re telling me.” Jeonghan swallows back the rest of his beer and slides the empty over into the cradle of Minghao’s deft hand.</p><p>He’s only just picking up his glass when a loud, droning chord bleats from the speakers, a theatrical sort of thing that draws Jeonghan’s eye back toward the stage. </p><p>A five-piece, pretty standard, drums and bass and everything. It’s all swathed in green, this obscene neon thing, and they’re all shouting in unison.</p><p>“Lessgeddit!” the guitarist hollers in English to lead into the song, his boyish grin breaking open his face like laughter was meant to play there. It seems to really pick the rest of them up, hair bouncing and tongues caught between teeth and bodies moving with purpose across the stage. </p><p>The drummer’s body looks like an adult sitting at the kids’ table, limbs folded up into himself, flailing with purpose like Animal from the Muppets, and he’s pulling faces at the guitarist. Maybe it’s the lighting, but when Drums winks at Guitar, Jeonghan thinks there’s a neon pink that flushes up his cheeks to match the instrument in his hands.</p><p>They’re not great. But at least they’re having fun.</p><p>It—he’s <em>not </em>a pick-me, doesn’t really mean it when he makes eyes at the frontman, gaze trailing over his body, all legs and <em>shoulders—okay, </em>maybe Jeonghan dials it up a little, but no one could blame him for it. It’s been a while, and it’s just that the lead singer catches his eye, maybe shoots him a surprised-looking smile when he catches him looking, or it’s a trick of the light. </p><p>He turns a little, cheats out on the bridge, bites his lip as his bandmate does some truly nonsensical shit on the keyboard, and it doesn’t even look fake shy. In fact, it looks real cute. </p><p>Well, maybe Jeonghan can be charitable and look past the music. Just this once. And if Jihoon asks, he can deny everything.</p><p>The overblown chiptune mixing fades into the background with the drummer and guitarist’s yelling when Jeonghan’s selective listening kicks in. Whatever money they saved on their ridiculous outfits and recycled key kit clearly went to the microphone, because it’s picking up all the sweet tones of their singer’s voice as he weaves through the lyrics. His voice is soft and demure for a noise band, and when he dips into falsetto… well, Jeonghan will never admit it if his knees go a little weak.</p><p>Jeonghan <em> lives </em>with musicians. He knows what they’re like, spent all his college years letting them chase him, swore off them after he and Mingyu ended things so Mingyu could pursue Seokmin with puppy eyes and bared teeth, but—</p><p>But.</p><p>Technically speaking, this band isn’t <em> really </em> that bad. Noise music just isn’t Jeonghan’s taste. (Shouldn’t be anyone’s taste, probably, but he digresses.)</p><p>The singer tosses his sweaty hair off his forehead with a practiced flick of his head and casts his face downward, crooning over a subtle little swung note and looking back at Jeonghan through his eyelashes. His tongue catches between his teeth, runs over his canines, and Jeonghan swallows.</p><p>This could be fun.</p><p>Jeonghan crooks his head at an angle he knows does several things at once (he is nothing if not efficient): gets the long tendrils of hair tickling his cheekbones off his face, casts said cheekbones in favorable light, and invites this man to find him in the back after he’s done. He has one whole set after that until Diamond are on. It seems pretty fortuitous.</p><p>Onstage, his tongue runs over his bottom lip again and he lets his eyelids drop, the easy smile that appears on his face audible in his lyrics even when he turns away to work the other side of the crowd. </p><p>This will be fun.</p><p>The bassist gets too close to his mic at the end of their set to say thank you to the crowd, who cheer and clap, and Jeonghan does not look at the veins on the singer’s forearms when he helps tote their gear offstage. It’s a little too effortless for how lean he is. Suspicious.</p><p>Jeonghan finishes his drink and sets it on the bar.</p><p>He feels the presence a respectful distance behind his shoulder only a few minutes later. When Jeonghan lifts his eyes, coquettish and controlled, Jeonghan half-expects him to react shyly. For him to see Jeonghan and blush, to watch him bloom under Jeonghan’s attention. But he’s smiling, a flush high on his cheeks from bounding off the stage feetfirst, shiny with sweat and <em>is that glitter?,</em> and he rubs at his neck before holding out his hand to shake.</p><p>“I’m Doyoung,” he offers.</p><p>Several beats pass. Jeonghan stares at his hand where it’s outstretched. He can see the sweat coating his palm, fine silver glitter stuck to it like the trail of a comet. Doyoung’s eyes flick down, and he grimaces before wiping it on the leg of his black jeans. He holds out his left hand to shake instead. It’s not nearly as clammy when his fingers curl around the edge of Jeonghan’s palm.</p><p>Jeonghan hums appraisingly. “Mm, you’re not as tall offstage.”</p><p>“We’re the same height.”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>He laughs like Jeonghan said something funny, which is a reaction Jeonghan is used to fielding, but instead of sycophantic it comes across genuine. Which means Doyoung is either way too easy to impress, or painfully earnest. It remains to be seen, and Jeonghan is feeling charitable.</p><p>“You’re cuter offstage, though,” Jeonghan allows, walking his fingers over the studded leather at Doyoung’s slim natural waist. It feels like real leather, too, not the marked-up replica night market fast fashion stuff. Jeonghan smiles.</p><p>Doyoung smiles back. “So are you.”</p><p>“I do benefit from closeups.”</p><p>“You weren’t hurting for my opinion up there,” Doyoung replies, hand finding Jeonghan’s again with ease and tugging him toward the other single-stall restroom at the back of the venue.</p><p>That’s… sweet of him to say. Even if Jeonghan isn’t lacking for confidence, a little boost never hurts. And Jeonghan can certainly appreciate a man who knows what he wants. </p><p>Doyoung unclips the chain on the <em> out of order </em>sign, ushers Jeonghan through, then reclips it before kicking the door shut behind them, one long leg outstretched. That’s kind of sexy. In the grimy mirror, Jeonghan catches a glimpse of his own raised eyebrow and rearranges his features to look a little less impressed.</p><p>Never let it be said that Yoon Jeonghan is easy.</p><p>Doyoung is looking at him with intent, but—ah, there are the nerves, his feet pigeon-toed like one of the girls from the anime Jun and Jihoon keep trying to get him to watch. He’s chewing on his lip and trying to push down a smile, but stepping on his own shoelaces as he shuffles.</p><p>Jeonghan does not understand this boy. But he doesn’t have to understand him to make out with him.</p><p>He cards a hand through the back of Doyoung’s hair and instantly regrets it, the wet way it’s starting to tangle at the base of his skull feeling kind of gross between his fingers. Jeonghan makes a dissatisfied little noise in the back of his throat, withdraws his hand, and tugs him into a kiss with a fist in the front of his shirt instead. Might as well cut to the chase.</p><p>It’s a study in contradiction, the press of Doyoung’s mouth versus the way his body goes pliant, leaning forward into where Jeonghan’s knuckles are wrapped in the cotton of his t-shirt. The other is slung over his shoulder, fingers brushing the nape of his neck. Casual.</p><p>“You don’t have to be shy about it. I’m not as fragile as I look.” </p><p>Something sparkles in Doyoung’s eye when Jeonghan sighs it out into his mouth, on the way to exasperated, and his hands tighten on Jeonghan’s hips. He doesn’t reply, just leans in again, and <em> ooh, </em>okay. Yeah.</p><p>There’s a gentle sort of way Doyoung’s hand rests on Jeonghan’s hip, even as his mouth slides dirty against Jeonghan’s. He doesn’t taste like beer. His chapstick isn’t greasy, either, like he put it on a while ago. Like it’s a habit. Kind of nice to be kissing a boy with good habits. To be making out, hot and careless, with someone who touches him like he’s delicate but kisses him like he’s worth the bruise. </p><p>Flustering this kind of boy is fun.</p><p>So he gives it his all, teeth and tongue and hands, and Jeonghan tries not to preen when Doyoung looks a little dazed as he breaks away, his lips parted and wet. He says, “What did—”</p><p>Jeonghan has to move quick to avoid this moment. His only option is to lean in and kiss Doyoung again, to lick into his mouth and shut him up. “If you ask me what I thought of your band, I cannot be held responsible for my inability to lie to you. Don’t you want a man who’s honest?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I want you,” Doyoung says with a gummy grin. His eyes are sharp, his hands firm on Jeonghan’s waist. He’s not even saying it to flatter, he’s meeting Jeonghan where he is and being <em> honest. </em> God, he’s so <em> earnest. </em> Isn’t that just so <em> cute. </em></p><p>Fuck, Jeonghan loves cute boys.</p><p>“Prove it,” Jeonghan sniffs, petulant mouth falling open in a gasp when Doyoung’s hands slide over his hips, his ass, gripping the underside of his thigh with a sportsman’s grip and hoisting him up onto the sink. Jeonghan bites out a high-pitched, “Are you serious?” and emergency-hooks his ankles around Doyoung’s waist, hands finding purchase in the muscle of his biceps. He doesn’t trust the cement to hold, and despite all his beanstalkishness, Doyoung looks strong enough to save him were it to come crumbling down.</p><p>And, of course, Doyoung’s resulting laugh is cute, too. “I got you. Live a little,” he murmurs, nosing under Jeonghan’s chin and licking at his neck, pressing wet little kisses over his throat.</p><p>Jeonghan must be so sweaty, the reminder of the hot press of bodies out on the floor tacky-cool on his skin. Doyoung sure is. The edges of his hair are all stuck together in stringy little waves, pieces of it pressed against his temples. He smells a little, but not unbearably. At least he’s not beer-sticky, and anyway, Jeonghan would be lying if he said it didn’t do anything for him.</p><p>“I live plenty.” Flexing his feet, Jeonghan indignantly nudges Doyoung’s body closer between his thighs, changing his mind about touching his hair. Two hands in Doyoung’s hair, pressed firm over his scalp. Two hands nudging up Jeonghan’s shirt, fingers sliding warm to rub experimentally at his nipples. Surprised, Jeonghan keens, digging his heel into Doyoung’s sacrum and sinking his teeth into Doyoung’s bottom lip. “Hey! Hands where I can see them!”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” Doyoung laughs, but he’s wincing a little, one of his hands finding Jeonghan’s waist again, the other moving behind himself to rub at the small of his back.</p><p>His fingers brush against Jeonghan’s bare ankle, and his thumb circles the anklebone gently, almost absentmindedly. He probably didn’t even see Jeonghan’s tattoo. </p><p>Jeonghan thinks that if he were newspaper Doyoung’s fingerprints would be inky, the rose scraped into his ankle smudged with sweat and oil. Something risky in him wants the rest of his body streaked with it, blurred black and violet up and down his chest and neck and waist and—</p><p>Maybe he was a <em> little </em> hasty. Doyoung at least earns some points for stopping when Jeonghan said so. </p><p>Jesus, the bar is low. Practically sub-basement. </p><p>“You can. You can, I just… give a man some warning,” Jeonghan mutters, nipping at Doyoung’s jaw.</p><p>Doyoung’s hand tightens on Jeonghan’s ankle, long fingers touching on the other side. Jeonghan can practically see his leg thump with eagerness. “You want it?”</p><p>Jeonghan is familiar with stage adrenaline and its myriad forms. This is his favorite kind, though; when hopped-up boys get messy and handsy, but underneath it all they’re just looking for validation. It puts Jeonghan in a favorable position. All he has to do is tell them how hot they are and how good their band is and they’re putty in his hands.</p><p>Even if Jeonghan literally cannot bring himself to tell Doyoung his band is good. He has limits.</p><p>“I’m Jeonghan,” he murmurs, tilting his head back and reveling in the way Doyoung chases his mouth. He laughs, and the way Doyoung’s smile cracks his pout in response makes Jeonghan think that if he runs into him again he might allow a repeat performance.</p><p><br/>
•</p><p> </p><p>“You hate going to our shows.”</p><p>So, Jeonghan supposes he understands why Jun might say something like that, considering he disappeared last time shortly before they went on and then, due to unforeseen circumstances, became… unavailable for the duration of their set. </p><p>But, see, karma <em> is </em>real, because Jeonghan had to wiggle into his car from the passenger side door half-hard because some other band’s ugly van skimmed too close to the line in the lot, and he grit his teeth when the white of his side mirror kissed the black paint of the van when he went to drive home. </p><p>He’s paid his price for both having a haphazard hookup and being a bad friend, in his opinion.</p><p>The lineup has changed this show, however, in the interest of fairness or something, and his friends are on first, so it’s a win-win. No more missing Diamond’s set, and Doyoung’s band is on a group after, and then… who knows?</p><p>Jeonghan doesn’t know why he thought his early arrival today wouldn’t arouse any suspicion, but he’s confident he can worm his way out of this one. He frowns and waves a hand, aiming for casual. “Not true. I relish the opportunity to support my friends and their passions.”</p><p>Wonwoo raises a curious eyebrow but says nothing to Jeonghan, tearing off a strip of electrical tape with his teeth and binding a crack in the loop pedal cord. “Give it a try, Seok.”</p><p>Mouth full of shrimp chips, Seokmin half-sings a line into the mic and hits the pedal, immediately sending a screeching, grinding noise into the living room air.</p><p>“Oh, fuck!” “Wonu, unplug it!” “Shit!” <em> “Hyung!” </em> “Sorry, sorry!”</p><p>Among the commotion Jeonghan yawns and drops into the old armchair in the corner, the blanket draped over one arm just covered in cat hair. Miyu stretches himself out from underneath the chair, biting at Jeonghan’s shoelaces and tugging them loose. The sun isn’t dipping low yet, and everything feels too slow and too bright, his long day at work catching up to him a little. He scratches Miyu behind the ears, letting him roll around in shoelace spaghetti, and tries not to wonder if Doyoung might be down for something again tonight.</p><p>Jeonghan doesn’t know why he’s being so cagey about it all, either. They’ve all swapped enough stories for Jeonghan to know that if the tables were turned he would have heard plenty of details from Soonyoung or Joshua about a sordid hookup by now. For all of his class and his poise, Jeonghan seriously doubts any of his friends would begrudge him a sloppy makeout with a hot singer in the bathroom.</p><p>Actually, on second thought, they might. </p><p>More than once Jihoon has muttered a mistrustful word about the other bands at a gig being dicks, or worse; <em> our clothes, our lyrics, our setup, fuck’s sake, focus on yourself before coming for us, shithead. </em>Who’s to say Doyoung doesn’t run in the same circles? That the tongue that laved over Jeonghan’s throat hasn’t curled around insults aimed at his friends, his family?</p><p>If Jeonghan had to make the choice, it would be simple.</p><p>This <em> is </em> going to be simple, anyway. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, whatever.</p><p>So, no more thinking.</p><p>“Is anyone ordering food or are we eating there?”</p><p>“I can run and get something,” Seungcheol offers.</p><p>“Actually, I can go,” Jeonghan hears himself saying, and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, the only sound a lingering chord from where Jihoon is working something out on Jun’s keyboard.</p><p>Joshua raises an eyebrow. “What?”</p><p>Something like embarrassment rushes up Jeonghan’s skin. “I said I can go get something for us to eat.”</p><p>“Who are you and what have you done with Yoon Jeonghan?” Seungkwan asks. </p><p>Jihoon does a slick little one-handed riff on the keys as punctuation. Who does he think he is?</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Miyu apparently senses the tension is centered around Jeonghan and darts over to Chan, winding around his legs before being scooped up protectively. Wonwoo puts the round of electrical tape over his wrist like a bracelet to pick him up out of Chan’s arms, but ends up with a handful of his bicep and spends the next fifteen seconds staring at the carpet.</p><p>Jun says, “You said last month you had case research that was going to keep you late, and made it to <em> one </em> of our shows. You got home <em> after </em>us.”</p><p>Seokmin kicks up on his knees to bend backward over the couch and stare at Jeonghan upside down. Eyes on his phone, Mingyu’s hand slides of its own accord over the exposed strip of skin at Seokmin’s waist when he does so. “Yeah, and just last week you said, ‘If Seungcheol isn’t going to pay to get me a replacement pair of non-maraschino cherry-splattered sneakers, the next time you see me at a show will be in hologram form.’”</p><p>“My feet were stained red for, like, three days. And I can’t wear those shoes in the daytime anymore without people looking at me like I’m a serial killer.”</p><p>Joshua snorts, fiddling with a tuner. “Serves you right for wearing <em> white shoes </em>to a show. Maybe if you started wearing shit that covers your ankles—”</p><p>“My ankles are one of my best features,” Jeonghan barks, feeling heat flare up his neck and settle at his ears. All of this is getting a little too interrogatory for his taste; he gets enough of the cross-examination at work, thank you very much. “Aren’t you supposed to tune before you start practice, Joshuji?”</p><p>Mouth flattening for a retort, Joshua’s face arranges itself into something feltlike, mirrored by Hansol who has not one, but three pens arranged on his person. Jeonghan doesn’t know how he manages to keep one behind his ear like that. He tried it at work once and it fell off nearly instantly. He had to find the least sexy way to bend down and pick it up, lest one of the partners get the wrong idea, and that, as one may imagine, was a taller order than anticipated.</p><p>Much like that moment, Jeonghan has to get back on top of this situation.</p><p>“My fashion and my support are wasted on you! I’ll meet you at the venue with the food! Doors at seven thirty!” Like they don’t already know. Jeonghan slams the door behind him as he leaves, which feels very satisfying for about three minutes, until he finds himself pressing his forehead into his steering wheel and lets out a long breath.</p><p>Midbreath Seungcheol knocks on the passenger window, and Jeonghan jolts upright, knocking his head on the visor where it’s still folded out.</p><p>“Fuck!” Jeonghan groans.</p><p>“Open up,” comes Seungcheol’s slightly muffled voice from just above the window frame. “We’re walking to 7-11. You know there’s no parking around there.”</p><p>Jeonghan takes a deep breath and gets out of his car, letting the buckle of the seatbelt knock against the headrest before he closes the door. “It’s less about <em> going places </em>in the car as it is having an expensive place to stare into space, Cheol-ah. You wouldn’t get it.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s nod seems a little worried and a lot placating, but Jeonghan will take that over the third degree from Joshua or Seungkwan right now. They were looking pretty skeptical when he beat his hasty retreat. Better to quit while you’re ahead.</p><p>“Did Mingyu ask for the spicy pork dosirak again?”</p><p>“Yeah. <em> And </em> a samgyeopsal one.”</p><p>It feels natural to fall back into step with his friends like this. Why would Jeonghan want for anything else?</p><p><br/>
•</p><p> </p><p>The show goes great. His friends are <em> talented. </em>Jeonghan doesn’t know how he let himself forget.</p><p>And the rear bathroom is still out of order. Interesting.</p><p>Doyoung’s hands are unfairly talented for someone who doesn’t play any instruments in his band, and Jeonghan refuses to acknowledge that he is soaking the collar of Doyoung’s t-shirt with spit from muffling his cries into the cotton. He can’t let him know it’s <em> good </em> (even if, oh fuck, oh <em> fuck! </em> it’s <em> so </em> good, what the fuck—from a <em> handjob?). </em> And he doesn’t even have to reciprocate, because Doyoung comes in his stupid long-legged light wash jeans sometime during the process of jerking Jeonghan off.</p><p>Uh oh.</p><p><br/>
•</p><p> </p><p>Jeonghan hears a new voice curling around the syllables <em> Jeonghannie-hyung, </em>wonders when the hell he let that happen.</p><p>Wonders how he let himself get taken in by long legs and broad shoulders (except for maybe always, okay, he can accept that a lot of his trysts have fit the bill), to the point where he feels himself wake up a little every time there’s a little screech of feedback or a throat clearing in a mic.</p><p>Wonders when he started letting himself drop to his knees three times a month for the past two months and bat his eyelashes up at Doyoung, dragging it out not with petulance but with banter, making him laugh before making him come. Teasing in more ways than one. </p><p>Jeonghan’s almost not sure which he likes more. </p><p>Realistically, it’s no contest, because Doyoung keeps condoms on him like some dutiful Tiger Scout <em> (junbi, </em>right?) and always lets out all these melodic little moans and really knows what he’s doing with his body, but like. Almost. You know?</p><p>But the sun goes down, so it must come up, and even if at night he gets to swap pithy come-ons with a noise band frontman, by daylight Jeonghan is a <em> judicial fucking scrivener. </em>He knows how to spin himself into a favorable position, knows better than to hold himself to the letter of a verbal agreement, much less an unspoken one. And this unspoken agreement that he has entered into with Doyoung is proving mutually beneficial, even if the terms are uncertain.</p><p>Work-life balance. Who knew?</p><p>Over the last few weeks Jeonghan has started to slow down on letting the firm determine his hours instead of the other way around. He’s been working with Nayeon on redividing some of the case files, reorganizing the hearing agendas to redistribute the labor of the associates, and actually encouraging the high school intern to be the one to alphabetize instead of letting the partners push him around for coffee when there’s a café right next door.</p><p>His workdays start moving faster, like a train picking up speed as it pulls out of the station, a hiss of steam and a pinging announcement sound as he hurtles, day after day, ever-closer to the next show.</p><p>He sees more of his friends. In the <em> daytime. </em> Or—okay, early evening, but that’s a real improvement. He finally unmutes the groupchat, answering Ka-Talk messages with aegyo and a Three Hugs sticker to a barrage of <em> woooow!!!! </em> and <em> HYUNG??? </em> and <em> he lives, damn ㅋㅋ, </em>and he can’t say it doesn’t feel a little like a homecoming.</p><p>So he’s home before five on a weekday, and, wow, there is really something to be said for it, because Jihoon let him tug at the rips in his jeans and Joshua bought him an early dinner and now Seokmin is filling him in on gossip he somehow missed over the past few weeks.</p><p>Even if in this case ‘catching up on gossip’ means ‘listening to Seokmin wax poetic about how he fucked someone within an inch of his life and is now planning boutonnière arrangements and triad-based wedding color palettes.’”</p><p>“You’re not supposed to catch feelings for a hookup!” Jeonghan wails, face unmoving but tone melodramatic. “Seok-ah! I taught you better than this!”</p><p>Seokmin shrugs and grins, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I don’t think that’s what happened. I think Jaehyun and I are attracted to each other and also we hooked up. Whether those things happened concurrently or one after the other, does it matter? The truth of it is that we’re into each other. Why does it have to be more complicated than that?”</p><p>Jeonghan huffs. </p><p>Firstly, it literally <em> is </em> more complicated than that, considering Seokmin and Mingyu are doing whatever it is Seokmin and Mingyu are doing. Whatever they have been doing for virtually as long as he’s known them. This sort of bittersweet will-they-won’t-they, where they like each other so much they’re pushing up against each other like waves, not realizing they’re two movements in the same sea. It’s all crashing foam right now, and Jeonghan wonders if Jaehyun is ready to get into a dinghy. Adding another person to their tenuous arrangement is a …choice, if Joshua’s darkly comic child-of-divorce stories have been any sort of parable to draw from.</p><p>Secondly, Seokmin is too generous for his own good. Who just lives life like that? No one, except for a droplet of sunlight who was animated by a toddler’s first selfless act and turned into a human man, could be this heart-on-their-sleeve and have things work out in his favor all the time.</p><p>“Fine. Who is this Jaehyun, anyway? That guy from your high school, right?”</p><p>Beaming, Seokmin opens his camera roll. “Yeah. God, I thought he was so hot then, but he got <em> so hot, </em> Hannie-hyung, seriously. He has a million abs. I’ve counted them. With my <em> tongue,” </em>he sighs. His enthusiasm is admittedly infectious, and Jeonghan laughs.</p><p>“I couldn’t be prouder. Dreams do come true.”</p><p>As Seokmin swipes through pictures of an admittedly very handsome guy, Jeonghan’s absentminded eye catches some familiar lighting, and something inside his throat catches, too.</p><p>“Hang on. Go back to that one?”</p><p>Seokmin swipes dutifully, and that’s when Jeonghan sees it. That godforsaken lime green taunts him now as always, even through the blur, and while the focus is on the drum kit, Jeonghan knows that logo, and knows whose leg is in the front left corner of the frame.</p><p>“He’s in a band, too! He’s a bassist, so, you know.” Seokmin waves his fingers with emphasis, then giggles a little. “But I bet I’m better.”</p><p>Jeonghan’s eyes are glued to the screen. “Ah, good, Seokmin. You deserve that.” As distracted as he is by the rapidly rising panic bubbling in his chest, Jeonghan does really mean it, too. Seokmin looks happy. He deserves to be happy.</p><p>He wants to ask about Jaehyun. He wants to ask about Mingyu. And he will, he just—</p><p>Doyoung’s tongue is lolling out of his mouth in the picture, blurry since the focus is on Jaehyun’s Disney-prince grin, but Jeonghan knows that face, knows where it’s been, and something jittery and nervous in him wants to scoop the image out of Seokmin’s phone screen and shove it in his mouth, chew it and swallow it and open back up to show it’s all gone.</p><p>Suddenly, Jeonghan’s world is getting a lot fucking smaller.</p><p><br/>
•</p><p> </p><p>Something feels different tonight. There’s a ball of anxiety in the pit of Jeonghan’s stomach that he can’t seem to shake. </p><p>Admittedly, a lot of it has to do with the fact that he had to make two trips in his car to tote Diamond’s gear to the venue because their usual ride, Seungcheol’s brother’s work truck, broke down en route to their house. Jeonghan has done more physical labor tonight than he’s done in a long time, migrating old boxes of case files to the firm’s new storeroom notwithstanding. Unpaid, then. (The matching look of relief on Wonwoo and Jihoon’s faces was gratitude enough, honestly, considering Jun was two steps out the door, ready to accidentally shatter kneecaps with his keyboard on the bus again.)</p><p>He’s already antsy by the time groups start going onstage, too on-edge to badger Minghao for a free beer, much less a mixed drink. He finds himself in the front of the throng very early on. It’s almost disconcerting, even with the knowledge that most of his friends are a handful of meters away if all of this gets to be too much.</p><p>It does, sometimes.</p><p>For a creature who thrives on attention and compliments, Jeonghan can get so caught up in the grinding machinations of his mind that he’s miserable to be around, and not on purpose in a funny way. A long day at work, followed by a stressful afternoon, dusted with tense anticipation like powdered sugar. It’s the perfect recipe for Jeonghan to overthink and withdraw into himself at his first opportunity.</p><p>He lets the music wash over him. He wants to drown in it. Let something else guide him for once, take one end of his tension in hand and spool him out into staves and measures.</p><p>There’s <em> finally </em>an all-girl band on the lineup, and they’re so good it makes Jeonghan want to laugh with joy. They have this amazing rock-tinged bubblegum citypop kind of sound, tight harmonies and tighter skirts, and Jeonghan wonders absently if Jihoon is listening. They’re right up his alley.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, hyung,” a voice behind him is calling out loudly to someone in the distance, and suddenly there are hands on Jeonghan’s waist, voice dropping to purr, “Come here often?”</p><p>Jeonghan stiffens out of instinct, readying his foot to slam down on the instep of the body pressing flush against his, but then that warm, giggly laughter winds around his ear and he sighs, tipping back against Doyoung’s chest without looking up or back.</p><p>“Doie,” Jeonghan hisses, pushing down the now only partially useless spike of adrenaline along with the relieved smile threatening to melt onto his face. There’s a crowd. His friends are backstage or otherwise occupied. But— “Don’t you have your set soon?”</p><p>Doyoung’s hand slides across Jeonghan’s stomach over his shirt, thumb brushing an abstract pattern over where the stress is stuck. “Not on for another two. If we’re quick… You want to…?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jeonghan interrupts. He does, very much.</p><p>The wry smile on Doyoung’s face when Jeonghan turns around and nods is the best kind of confirmation. Jeonghan feels syrupy, and he narrows his focus to Doyoung at his hand, his waist, his lips.</p><p>How Jeonghan let Doyoung convince him to do this in the electric closet on top of some spare subwoofers is beyond him. They had a good thing going in the bathroom. But it’s back in order now, and Doyoung has a friend who works sound for the venue who lent him the key, apparently, so here they are.</p><p>He writhes away from the power cord coiled under him, pushing up the back of Doyoung’s shirt to rake lines with his nails parallel to Doyoung’s spine. Jeonghan feels tense, and Doyoung’s muscles feel loose and relaxed, and maybe if Jeonghan smooths his hands over the warm skin there and presses close enough some of that ease will melt into him and quiet his brain for a few minutes. </p><p>As it is, the way Doyoung’s swollen mouth is pressing sweet and savoring against his is coaxing more words out from his lungs than he’s wanted to share all day, each breathy, happy little sigh Doyoung lets fan out between their mouths righting something in Jeonghan’s attitude. He wants to give Doyoung what they usually share.</p><p>“My ass is going to be bruised from all these uneven surfaces,” Jeonghan complains, letting it roll out against Doyoung’s tongue, no heat in it.</p><p>“What ass?”</p><p>Jeonghan’s hands splay over the smooth breadth of Doyoung’s shoulders, blunt nails digging with purpose now into his hot skin. ”Don’t be fucking rude. Next time, you, <em> ugh, </em>you have to promise me we’re taking this home. I deserve some semblance of comfort.”</p><p>Doyoung laughs, not unkindly. “You wanna take me home?” He looks excited, actually, which punches a fist through Jeonghan’s gut and twists something in his stomach that he’s not entirely prepared for.</p><p>“Oh—I. We’ll see,” Jeonghan says, embarrassed.</p><p>“Good enough for me.”</p><p>When Doyoung drops to his knees, he sets his denim jacket on the floor first to cushion them. It’s so bizarre and particular and <em> smart, </em>Jeonghan gets a little squirmy about it, all his pent-up jitters making him feel like he’s vibrating out of his skin with want. “Come on,” he says, running a hand through the dark mop atop Doyoung’s head.</p><p>Doyoung is still grinning when he gets Jeonghan’s pants around his ankles and mouths at Jeonghan through his boxer-briefs.</p><p>Jeonghan hisses and swears, one hand flying to his mouth, the other tightening in Doyoung’s hair on instinct. “Ah, sorry,” he gasps apologetically. Doyoung doesn’t like his hair pulled.</p><p>Jeonghan moves his hand away like he was burned and clutches at the collar of Doyoung’s t-shirt instead, a pretty white one with an indecipherably faded print. The soft cotton stretches into the death-grip where his fingers indent, the neck widening slightly. It’s soft and worn, loose where Doyoung’s shoulders have broadened it a little. Jeonghan wonders if he’ll be able to steal it at some point.</p><p>Doyoung, by this time, has run nails up Jeonghan’s thighs, fingers teasing around Jeonghan in his underwear. Jeonghan jerks, knee narrowly missing the side of Doyoung’s head, and he grits out, <em> “Doyoung,” </em>thankful Doyoung’s eyes are busy at cock-level considering Jeonghan is sure his face is burning with the desperation already so ragged in his voice.</p><p>Cute boys who <em> tease </em>are the fucking worst.</p><p>“I’m gonna make it good for you, hyung, don’t worry,” Doyoung murmurs sweetly.</p><p>“The longer I wait the more worried <em> you </em> should be—oh, <em> fuck you,” </em>Jeonghan moans at the first long lick of Doyoung’s tongue on him, practically digging his nails into the fabric balled up in his fist. He might actually be a little worried about tearing a hole in Doyoung’s shirt, which is a thought that quickly swings into the panic-inducing territory of ‘I legally cannot be held liable for what I do if I see this boy shirtless.’ Jeonghan has his suspicions about what kind of body Doyoung possesses, and he really is not sure he can handle abs of a particular nature.</p><p>Doyoung pulls off him and says between little kisses to the head of Jeonghan’s dick, “Yeah? When?”</p><p>It takes Jeonghan a second to process what he’s asking for, but when he does, he groans again, the grit of his teeth making it sound less aggressive and more whiny. “When—whenever you want, baby, are you ever going to, a-ah, <em> fuck! Hate </em> that you do that! <em> Doie…” </em></p><p>He can dish it out but he can’t take it; Jeonghan is self-aware enough to admit that to himself. He does better when he’s the one in charge, when he can tease and take someone apart, use all his incisiveness and observation to have them right where they want to be.</p><p>So Jeonghan isn’t proud, exactly, of how he’s ended up in compromising positions like this for the last few months now, nor is he proud of the feeling that raced up his throat when Doyoung slipped a copy of very recent test results into Jeonghan’s back pocket after his band’s set two weeks ago. It would have been rude not to meet that energy in kind. The look in Doyoung’s eyes when he got his hands on Jeonghan without a condom for the first time was enough for Jeonghan to live on for the workweeks until now.</p><p>Of course, Doyoung’s eyes are twinkling now, too, as he continues to work him over, sucking sweetly at his cock like it’s a prescription for anxiety, and if the ball of stress in the pit of Jeonghan’s stomach unwinds with a sharp yank and he comes too quick down Doyoung’s throat with a long, drawn-out moan of his name, Jeonghan swears to himself he will take it to his grave.</p><p> </p><p>•</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Jeonghan wakes up at seven in the morning on the weekend. Not naturally, of course, but because of some commotion or another, usually something like Seungcheol and Seokmin yelling on MapleStory or Jun accidentally tipping over his hot dog grill again, possibly into another potted plant Joshua brought home from the market.</p><p>Today it’s because there are some unforgivable whines and moans of indeterminate number and origin coming from the room next to his. Wonwoo’s room. Who has sex at seven o’clock in the morning on a <em> Sunday? </em>The concept is unfathomable to Jeonghan. Jeonghan stares at the ceiling for a bit and tries to decide if he wants to think about the possibilities or if he wants to ignore this development.</p><p>He goes for his phone on his side table instead.</p><p>Jeonghan is pretty sure that there’s a handbook he wrote when he was in university, where rule number one is you aren’t supposed to give your number to boys you hook up with, especially an — <em> ugh </em>— boy in a noise band.</p><p>Even if said boy can take or leave the noise and is just having fun with his friends.</p><p>Maybe that makes it worse.</p><p><b>noise band doyoung: </b> <em> just posted a new cover on youtube. what do you think? </em></p><p>
  <em> oh my god. am i on the distribution list for your shameless self-promotion </em>
</p><p><b>noise band doyoung: </b> <em> it’s about maximizing your audience, hyung </em></p><p>
  <em> STOP </em>
</p><p>
  <em> CANCEL </em>
</p><p><b>noise band doyoung: </b> <em> Thank you for signing up for Daily Doyoung, your premier international text message service celebrating Kim Dongyoung! You will now receive fun daily facts, links, and nudes from Doyoung himself! </em></p><p>
  <em> …i can be convinced </em>
</p><p><b>noise band doyoung: </b> <em> ;-) </em></p><p>And Jeonghan can’t say he doesn’t admire the scam, even if Doyoung uses emoticons like an old man.</p><p>There’s a begrudging tingle in Jeonghan’s shoulders that zips down the insides of his arms when he pulls up the video. By the time it’s fully loaded the electricity is settled in his chest, and the inside of Jeonghan’s cheek is raw, scraped between his molars like before his job interview at the firm.</p><p>It buffers for a few seconds when Jeonghan hits play. He can hear his own heavy breathing in his ears even over the AirPods he’s shoved into them, like when normal people open their front camera on their phones accidentally and have to confront what they really look like. Jeonghan wouldn’t know what that experience is like, but this feels like a similar phenomenon. Dunked in an ice bath of his own making.</p><p>Some opening chords, and then Doyoung is <em> singing, </em> like, <em> really </em> singing, emoting and taking breaths that lift his chest and his voice flying through notes like they’re just clouds in a beautiful sky. His eyes flutter shut and his head tips back as he swings through the prechorus, teeth catching on his bottom lip and the plane of his jaw practically angelic. The bridge hits, and his mouth never fully closes, lips soft around the lyrics, front teeth sweet as he takes a breath, and Doyoung soars, deep, chest-aching belting like he was made for it.</p><p>He’s never sounded like this before. He’s never <em> looked </em>like this before.</p><p>It all looks effortless, even though Doyoung is seated, and there’s so much <em> light </em> hitting his face that Jeonghan can make out features he’s never seen illuminated. Jeonghan wants to reach his fingers through the screen and trace his cheekbones and the slope of his nose and press his fingertip into his philtrum and watch the skin sink softly under his touch.</p><p>Everything feels very hot. Did Soonyoung turn the air con off? Tigers don’t <em> all </em>need semiarid climates.</p><p>The song twinkles to an end. There’s a beat, and then Doyoung smiles, one that lights up his whole face with bright white teeth and crinkling eyes, and Jeonghan promptly shoves his phone into the dark abyss of his bedcovers.</p><p>Jeonghan’s heart is pounding, and there’s a roaring in his ears that is more than just the white noise static of his idle earbuds. When he swallows it feels like he can hear each muscle in his throat contract, which is a little gross considering how much dick he sucks. Thinking about sucking dick adjacent to his Doyoung thought sends another hot flash over Jeonghan’s cheeks. He shoves his face into his pillow. This is kind of a nightmare.</p><p>Too much manic energy flows through his body to let him get back to sleep, so after a deep, steadying breath Jeonghan pushes his feet into his slippers, drops his phone into the pocket of his sleep pants and shuffles out into the kitchen for coffee.</p><p>“You look all glowy,” Chan comments from his perch on the kitchen counter.</p><p>“I would say the same for you but you just look freshly fucked, so,” Jeonghan yawns.</p><p>Chan rolls his eyes. “Thank you! I am.”</p><p>“I know,” Jeonghan says dryly, pushing at Chan’s bare thigh where it’s stuck to the granite. “Move. My coffee.”</p><p>It’s telling that Chan doesn’t apologize, just scoots over a little so Jeonghan can put beans in the grinder. He’s practically humming with contentment, smug and sated from however well he was taken care of this morning. And Jeonghan would know. He’s put that look on Chan’s face before.</p><p>Also, Doyoung’s voice in his earbuds hadn’t done all that much to muffle anything, as soft and sweet a balladeer he suddenly is. Just thinking about it again sparks electrical in the small of Jeonghan’s back, and he takes a deliberately long breath, inhaling coffee deep into his lungs, to settle the nerves that that reaction inspires in him. Ugh. What is <em> happening. </em></p><p>“Chan-ah,” Wonwoo’s soft, warm voice tumbles down the hall, gentle with what sounds like sleep, if Jeonghan didn’t know better. “Seungkwan wants coffee.”</p><p>“It can be hot. M’not picky,” Seungkwan’s voice follows.</p><p>“That is patently untrue,” Chan shoots back down the hall in something a little louder than a stage whisper.</p><p>Wonwoo’s low, disembodied laugh responds, reverberating down the walls and in Jeonghan’s skull. “Thank you, Jungchanie.”</p><p>Jeonghan’s neck almost snaps with the force of turning to goggle at Chan, who very solemnly and serenely avoids eye contact as he leaps off the counter like he’s an unmasked superhero. The sway of his back is confident, and he steals the mug Jeonghan had prepared for himself, disappearing back into Wonwoo’s bedroom and closing the door behind him.</p><p>Sighing a little but also feeling a little impressed, Jeonghan sets the coffee maker to pour a new cup, taking his phone out of his pocket and setting it onto the counter, screen-up. He pushes his tongue into the inside of his cheek, thumbnail picking absently at the screen edge of his case.</p><p>“Hyung, are you okay?”</p><p>As he walks into the kitchen, Seokmin is rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm, and Jeonghan opens the cabinet to get the Choco Chex out for him.</p><p>“You’re up so early. It’s Sunday, you know.”</p><p>Jeonghan wiggles under Seokmin’s arm to emulate a hug. “I know. The dulcet tones of Wonwoo fucking the life out of Kwanie and Chan awoke me with the sun, like some horny Joseon farmer. Actually, I think I would watch that drama. Should I tell someone about this?”</p><p>“Other way around today, I suspect,” Seokmin says casually, reaching around Jeonghan’s head for a bowl. “Bumped into Wonwoo in the bathroom, literally the most gentle hipcheck, I promise, and he almost collapsed.”</p><p>Jeonghan’s laughter is a peal of asynchronous bells, his hysterical, high-pitched witchy thing, but it’s okay because it sets Seokmin off, too, and his is louder. No one can ever get mad at Seokmin for smiling too much or laughing too loud. It’s an impossibility, the outright denial of a natural resource that keeps them all going. The sound of it makes something soothing and comfortable settle in Jeonghan’s chest, doing some work at smothering the electrical fire he hasn’t been able to put out on his own. “Good for him!”</p><p>Seokmin holds his spoon in his mouth while he shakes out his cereal, fixing Jeonghan with an arched eyebrow. The <em> clink </em>of the spoon against the side of the bowl is like a magnifying glass on Jeonghan’s brain for all its ringing. </p><p>“You’re chipper this morning.”</p><p>“I usually wake up at five for work, Seokmin, this is practically a luxurious experience.”</p><p>Seokmin doesn’t seem convinced, but allows it anyway as he pours milk into his bowl, the blue carton tipping out empty about halfway. “That seems right,” Seokmin mutters.</p><p>“Everything okay, Seok-ah? You’re up early too. Did you stay up last night?”</p><p>On second glance, Seokmin’s eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. It makes for a worrisome tableau as he spoons the top layer of dry cereal into his mouth and shrugs. Jeonghan waits.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. Stops. Elaborates, “Stayed up. You know how Cheol-hyung is a heavy sleeper. Didn’t bother him, I just…” Seokmin sighs, and taps his spoon against his leg in his sleep shorts, his goofy-looking, long red basketball ones. “Just… thinking.”</p><p>“About?”</p><p>“I thought it would be simple. Am I stupid for thinking it would be simple?” It’s quiet, aimed at Seokmin’s own distorted reflection in the back of his spoon.</p><p>Jeonghan shakes his head. “No. You wanted it to be simple. You have a big heart. It seemed simple to you.”</p><p>“Sometimes I think they don’t even like each other anymore and they’re just doing it for me.”</p><p>Something about that clearly doesn’t sit right with Seokmin, who doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body. He’ll readily sacrifice his happiness for everyone else’s. All the more reason he deserves this to work out.</p><p>“You think Mingyu would do that?”</p><p>“Yes,” Seokmin says easily. “I do, actually.” Jeonghan kind of agrees, but he’s not sure.</p><p>Nodding, Jeonghan says, “Maybe. What do you mean by, ‘anymore?’”</p><p>Seokmin furiously chews a spoonful of cereal, swallowing aggressively. “They used to—” a vague, aborted gesture with his spoon, “—hook up? Fuck? We have a lot of mutual friends, s’how we all found each other again. Mingyu used to tell me about this guy he would see at the clubs, go home with sometimes. Turns out it was Jaehyun.”</p><p>Jeonghan half-remembers those stories, but remembers more vividly Seokmin and Mingyu winding up with bouquets of hickeys up and down their necks, making eyes at each other during rehearsals and shows, pride and appreciation mixed with something a little darker, and neither of them quite mustering up the courage to name the thing they were both dancing around. Sometimes it feels easier to let in something new than to hold onto something you already have. Jeonghan can’t relate to the pursuit of something serious like that, but he thinks he understands where they’re coming from with it.</p><p>Jeonghan hems and haws for a minute, letting Seokmin lean on the counter and poke at his cereal. “Seok-ah. This is a <em> do as I say, not as I do </em>situation, but you know you need to talk to them and make sure you’re all on the same page. You like Jaehyun?”</p><p>Seokmin nods. “A lot. Seeing him again stirred up a lot of good feelings.”</p><p>“And—?”</p><p>“I’m in love with Mingyu,” Seokmin finishes quietly. “I think we’ve been in love for a long time.”</p><p>The sound of it melts through Jeonghan’s ribcage, fumes up his throat like camphor and menthol. An admission that feels like a high, opening his sinuses. “Then you’re okay. They’re already both clearly willing to try this thing out. It might not be easy but you go from here, and you go together.”</p><p>Seokmin reaches down and squeezes Jeonghan’s hand, spoon between his knuckles like a push dagger, smoothed out and softer than they probably both want to seem. He and Jeonghan get along, that way. Too open for their own good.</p><p>“Your cereal is getting soggy,” Jeonghan points out. </p><p>Laughing a little, Seokmin shovels a spoonful of wet Chex into his mouth, and asks around the mush, “What are you up to today, hyung?”</p><p>“It <em> is </em> Sunday. I think I’m going to—”</p><p>A series of notifications pops up on Jeonghan’s phone screen.</p><p><b>noise band doyoung: </b> <em> you busy today? kinda want to see you </em></p><p><b>noise band doyoung: </b> <em> not kinda. i want to see you. </em></p><p><b>noise band doyoung: </b> <em> come over? </em></p><p>“—uh, go to the park,” Jeonghan lies quickly, casually sliding his phone facedown again onto the counter. “Gotta get rid of those oats so Seungcheolie stops asking us to make porridge for breakfast every day. Health nut.”</p><p>Seokmin laughs again. “He puts enough brown sugar and strawberries in it for it to get recategorized as a dessert. Practically <em> yaksik. </em>But I admire the dedication.”</p><p>Like frostbite, Jeonghan’s fingertips feel very tingly suddenly, but he wraps his arms around Seokmin’s waist again, pushing his face into his cheek. Seokmin’s whole body runs warm. He deserves so much good. “Everything’s going to be okay with Gyu and Jaehyun. Hyung promises.”</p><p>“Thanks, hyung.” Seokmin presses a kiss to the crown of Jeonghan’s head, and Jeonghan can feel the smile through his hair. He adds conspiratorially, “You know, you can just say you want to go feed the ducks. We all know you’re not as cold as you want us to think you are.”</p><p>“Yah, Seokmin,” Jeonghan complains, batting at his stomach, which is a lot firmer than he remembers. Is Seokmin <em> built </em> now? Maybe you have to be, to juggle two boyfriends. It would explain Wonwoo’s new arm developments, probably, and the crop top that has wormed its way into his stage gear.</p><p>Seokmin’s responding laughter is sweet. “You’ve been made.”</p><p>Pulling out of the hug with some regret, Jeonghan sighs, “I suppose I have. Seokminnie has diagnosed me with terminal fondness. It’s fatal.”</p><p>“Mm. It can be.”</p><p><br/>
•</p><p> </p><p>Jeonghan isn’t surprised to see Doyoung yawning with bedhead at nine in the morning, but he is surprised to already see his soft syrupy eyes and toothy grin when he gets off at his stop at the subway station.</p><p>“Ah, so this is what you look like in the daylight,” Jeonghan says, and leans in for—what? He stops himself with a hand on Doyoung’s cheek, patting it awkwardly.</p><p>“No refunds,” Doyoung jokes. His smile pushes the apple of his cheek into the cradle of Jeonghan’s palm. The plush of his bottom lip presses against the meat of Jeonghan’s thumb, and Jeonghan pulls it away.</p><p>The sun is in their eyes when they hop off the escalator and burst onto the walkway, and Doyoung’s hand hovers over Jeonghan’s brow for a block or so to let his vision adjust. There’s a nervous tingle in the bottoms of Jeonghan’s feet, and he suspects it is not because of how tightly he laced his high-tops. In fact, on the contrary; they’re almost about to fall off. That’s what people in the business call, ‘fashion.’</p><p>It’s just that Jeonghan didn’t expect this. </p><p>The thought of Doyoung getting out of bed to meet him at the station — instead of just letting him meet him at his apartment for the booty call he thought this was — is getting tangled in Jeonghan’s brain like a pair of headphones.</p><p>It’s also… it’s nine in the morning. The sun is glowing on Doyoung’s dark hair, all raven-wing and tar sticking in Jeonghan’s ribcage, and he’s in the same loose white button-down from his video. Jeonghan feels keyed-up, the unforgettable muscle memory of Doyoung swallowing around his dick, blending messily with the itchy feeling in his hands from when he was watching him sing in the glass of his phone, both sensations metamorphosing into this Daytime Doyoung he is so utterly unprepared for.</p><p>“I could have made it on my own.”</p><p>“I didn’t want you to fend for yourself,” says Doyoung. It seems a little ominous, and Jeonghan’s hackles raise a little to defend his competence, until Doyoung explains, “If you came over unannounced you’d get the third degree from everyone and I figured you probably didn’t want to deal with that this early on a weekend. Goodness knows I don’t.”</p><p>Fair enough. Jeonghan nods. “Who is ‘everyone?’”</p><p>Doyoung’s hand slides over the back of his neck, and he yawns a little, turning it into a grin before he speaks. “Mm, Taeyongie-hyung, Mark, Donghyuck, and Yukhei.”</p><p>“From your band?”</p><p>“Mark and Yukhei, yes. Guitar and drums,” Doyoung explains, and Jeonghan mentally sticks labels on his laser-lit, neon-green memories of a baby-faced guitarist getting flirted with by an inflatable Tube Man with a CF contract for cologne.</p><p>“And Jaehyun on bass,” Jeonghan supplies. Doyoung’s eyebrows shoot up, and Jeonghan smirks. “I know things.”</p><p>“The way you say that makes me nervous.”</p><p>Jeonghan coos, “Mm, don’t be jealous, aein.” Before he knows it he’s reaching up to tug at Doyoung’s earlobe, relishing the way it turns pink, the bloom of it spreading down his neck and over his cheeks.</p><p>“God, hyung,” Doyoung mutters, glowing in the sun. </p><p>Jeonghan’s grin can probably be seen from space. He lets himself feel smug as they approach a nondescript-looking apartment building, Doyoung still talking and Jeonghan still listening.</p><p>“And, ah, Johnny on keys, pad, you know. He’s got his own kind of setup. Honestly, between you and me, I think he kind of just wants to be a DJ.”</p><p>“I think he is succeeding, even within the sphere of the band. It’s almost impressive,” Jeonghan offers.</p><p>Doyoung laughs, nods, and darts out his tongue to run over his lower lip. “Almost. I mean, I don’t really know how Neo Culture… exists.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean, like,” Doyoung waves a hand to spur the thoughts forward, “We started off just goofing around, and now we’re booking the same shows as OMG and Diamond. We care about this, even if we’re just having fun.”</p><p>The turn of phrase gives Jeonghan pause, and his gaze flickers up to Doyoung’s face. “Just because you’re having fun doesn’t mean it’s not important. You can take it seriously even if it didn’t start that way. If it matters to you, then it’s worth caring about. Worth putting effort into.”</p><p>Jeonghan kind of feels like Doyoung isn’t the only one he’s trying to convince, even as he follows Doyoung up the stairs to their second floor unit.</p><p>“Okay, let me see—” Doyoung starts, turning his key in the lock and ducking his head into the apartment. “I think—shh—okay, okay, let’s go.”</p><p>And suddenly Doyoung is grabbing Jeonghan’s hand and the front door is closing behind them, and together they dart into Doyoung’s room, trying not to giggle, letting that door close with a rush of air too. Jeonghan entertains the idea of reorienting himself so Doyoung can push him up against the wall, or maybe vice versa, but a reedy, sharp voice interrupts the thought and he freezes in place.</p><p>“Hyung, stop slamming doors, it’s <em> early,” </em>shouts someone, a brisk rapping sound on the wall closest to the desk rattling some pens in a cup there.</p><p>“Sorry, Hyuck-ah,” Doyoung calls back, shooting Jeonghan an apologetic grin where he’s trying to figure out if he should take off his shoes. “You can leave them right there if you want.”</p><p>Jeonghan toes off his high-tops easily, pushing them together neatly by the wall next to the door, and takes the moment to cast a perfunctory glance over Doyoung’s space. One bed, <em> made, </em> wrinkled blanket and messy pillows but everything’s smoothed out. Everything is neat but lived-in, some CDs and records on a shelf by the desk and a good amount of photos and posters hung up, and there’s this warm smell like wheat and honey lingering over everything. Jeonghan wants to sink into it, slide nosy fingers over all the surfaces and figure out why Doyoung is <em> happening </em>to him, why this smell and his smile and the sound of his voice have settled under his skin.</p><p>Another knock, a gentler one, startles Jeonghan again from its source on Doyoung’s bedroom door. Jeonghan scrambles to step behind the door, shooting Doyoung a panicky look that he hopes communicates something like, <em> Why are your roommates so fucking nosy? </em>like a) his are any better, and b) he doesn’t want to tear this room apart and build a mental case file labeled Kim Dongyoung.</p><p>Doyoung mirrors the expression and nods at Jeonghan when he gestures questioningly to his hiding place behind the panel of the door. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Doyo, it’s me,” a voice says.</p><p><em> Stay there, </em>Doyoung mouths, and opens the door just enough to reveal his face. Through the crack in the door by the hinges Jeonghan can see a compact, angular-looking boy with the world’s biggest eyes. He could probably give Minghao a run for his money in that category. “Taeyongie-hyung. Did I wake you?”</p><p>Taeyong shrugs. “You should be getting more sleep. Where did you even disappear to this early?”</p><p>“I went on a walk.” Not untrue, either. Jeonghan is impressed, from a legal standpoint and a personal one, even if there’s a waver in Doyoung’s voice that Jeonghan can tell means he doesn’t hide things from Taeyong often.</p><p>Sighing, Taeyong reaches out and shoves at Doyoung’s shoulder. “You have conditioned your body to wake up at the worst possible hours. How do you live?”</p><p>“Don’t discuss my <em> body,” </em>Doyoung says with gentle disgust.</p><p>Taeyong laughs, a low wheeze like he’s still waking up, soft and even like his speaking voice, and there’s a scuffling sound where Jeonghan can’t see, the snap of elastic and a hiss of air through teeth punctuated by the slap of a hand against another.</p><p>“Hyung!”</p><p>“Ah, Doyo,” Taeyong laughs, and Jeonghan feels—something. “Anyway, the kids are awake, too. Yukhei took Mark out last night and the second he came home he passed out on the couch all pink. And that was at one.”</p><p>Doyoung makes a fond little noise that goes right through Jeonghan, settling tight between his stomach and his ribs.</p><p>“You gonna come out and have breakfast with us after I take a shower? We still have some of the injeolmi toast from Friday, I think, and I was going to make eggs. We can throw together some sandwiches?”</p><p>“Ah, that’s okay,” Doyoung says, and Jeonghan sees his hand go to the back of his neck again. “I think I’m—ah, maybe I’ll go over to Johnny’s, work on some lyrics.” There’s a beat, and then Doyoung groans. “No, don’t look at me like that. No.”</p><p>“Oh, please, you can’t fool me. You just want to know if Johnny is writing lyrics <em> romantic </em> enough and <em> sexy </em>enough for you to—”</p><p>“Shut up,” Doyoung whines, and Jeonghan’s breath catches in his throat. “Shut up, hyung, please.”</p><p>Taeyong’s forehead creases, but he shrugs and acquiesces as he moves to leave back down the hallway, the handful of centimeters Doyoung has on him looking like a chasm. “Okay. Sure, Doyoungie. Just be careful, okay? Love you.”</p><p>“Have a good day,” Doyoung mumbles, ears pink. It’s aimed at the floor.</p><p>Taeyong pats his shoulder, his eyes following Doyoung’s. He pauses with his body turned toward Doyoung’s body filling the space in the doorway, glancing down at Doyoung’s feet. “You too, Doyo. Take care of yourself, okay?”</p><p><em> “Okay, </em> hyung! Thanks!”</p><p>And the door finally clicks shut again, Doyoung resting his forehead on the back of it and letting out a long breath.</p><p>“Did I do well? It’s not my first time,” Jeonghan says primly, taking a few steps and settling into the covers of Doyoung’s bed, readying his slyest grin and leaning back on his hands.</p><p>Doyoung laughs, but it comes out a little hollow, the sound of it flattening against the door. When he turns to face Jeonghan there’s a weird sort of look crossing his face, gaze matte with sudden exhaustion.</p><p>Jeonghan frowns and asks, “You okay?”</p><p>“Fine,” Doyoung says, jaw working a little like he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, but he sits on the bed next to Jeonghan anyway.</p><p>Jeonghan’s frown deepens, and he reaches up to run fingers through Doyoung’s hair, pushing it off his face. “Do you want to go back to bed? We can just take a nap. You really were up early.” It sounds gentle even to him. Something unfamiliar but natural, like breathing the too-clean, oxygenated air in a medical building.</p><p>It’s like Doyoung is resetting, having shut off a little, and Jeonghan wants to coax him back out.</p><p>So he talks. About himself, like it’s easy, even if it’s anything but.</p><p>He doesn’t know where else to start but somewhere like the beginning, his mom’s cooking and the soccer club at school. About Diamond coming together in college, throwing Jeonghan into something new through his best friendship with Joshua. Superficial things like how he had to teach himself to like coffee, when he got stung by a bee before sitting his exams in university, his little sister’s obsession with his hair when it was long.</p><p>“You had long hair?” Doyoung asks quietly.</p><p>At that Jeonghan laughs, lets his thumb run over the shell of Doyoung’s ear and gestures at his collarbones. “Yeah. Like to here.”</p><p>Doyoung breathes, “Wow.”</p><p>“Keep it in your pants,” Jeonghan jokes, and watches color flush over Doyoung’s skin. It’s like he’s filling with color, a spoon stirring the strawberries up into a glass of milk. Alive again.</p><p>Groaning, caught out, Doyoung nudges at Jeonghan, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. “Promise to show me pictures, at least?”</p><p>Jeonghan nudges back with his leg. “Sure. Promise.”</p><p>“What… what do you have there?” Doyoung’s neck cranes a little to see into where the pocket of Jeonghan’s cardigan is bulged out between them, lumpy and weirdly-shaped. He lets his eyes linger on Jeonghan’s for a few seconds and then suddenly moves for it, hand shooting into his space to attempt to tug it out.</p><p>“Hey!” On instinct Jeonghan is throwing elbows, trying to curl in on himself, screeching and wailing in a strangled sort of whisper, “Fucking—it’s <em> oats! Doie!” </em></p><p>In a flurry of movement Jeonghan is on his back, Doyoung’s arms are pushed underneath Jeonghan’s cardigan, his hands at his waist, his stomach, crawling all over Jeonghan’s body to seek out his prize. His hand finally finds Jeonghan’s inside the pocket. Jeonghan pushes his wrist against Doyoung’s to try to nudge him away, but allows it after a minute of resistance, letting Doyoung’s fingers slide over the bag, his thighs bracketing one of Jeonghan’s legs, and it’s—oh. It’s kind of <em> hot, </em>the fierce fire in Doyoung’s eyes, the sure way his hands flit over every corner of Jeonghan’s form.</p><p>Jeonghan hardly has the wherewithal to realize that Doyoung might be almost as competitive as he is, nor to consider that there is a slight possibility that he gave up much easier than usual. No one else is here to witness the concession anyway, and they’re both kind of giggly and out of breath.</p><p>“Oats?”</p><p>Jeonghan huffs and juts out his bottom lip. “For the ducks.”</p><p>The look on Doyoung’s face lands somewhere between disbelief and glee. “What ducks?”</p><p>“I told Seokmin I was going to the park to feed the ducks to get the oats out of the house,” he mutters.</p><p>It sounds as stupid as it feels to say. Doyoung’s resulting laughter is unbelievable, throaty until it all but disappears into his upper register. His whole body looks like it would collapse like a rope toy if it weren’t already entwined with Jeonghan’s.</p><p>Jeonghan whines. “Do you believe me?”</p><p>Nodding, Doyoung grins at Jeonghan, relinquishing his hold on the oats and untangling himself from Jeonghan. He’s up on his knees over Jeonghan’s body, and there’s this bated-breath moment where his eyes trace over Jeonghan’s mouth, down his neck, watch his heaving chest, but then Doyoung smiles, and it’s so earnestly sweet it cleaves the tension into harmlessness, into butterflies. “Let’s go, then.”</p><p>“Go…?”</p><p>“I’m gonna make an honest man out of you.” Doyoung moves in close again, and Jeonghan’s spine tingles with anticipation as his lips brush his earlobe, the ghostly pressure of teeth sending sparks down to the small of his back. “We’re going to the park.”</p><p>And then… they go to the park.</p><p>The adrenaline of sneaking back out of the apartment lingers in the small of Jeonghan’s back, and the line of Doyoung’s arm presses against Jeonghan’s as they walk the few blocks down to the entrance of the Forest. By this side of the morning, Seoul Sup is dotted with families and couples enjoying the day, the light ringing silver shadows on the clouds and casting everything in a soft gold hue. Jeonghan buys them lemon cake from the café at the edge of the park and acquiesces to shiny eyes, letting Doyoung steal his last bite. </p><p>Everything feels like sunshine, including Doyoung’s laughter on Jeonghan’s skin. The mandarin ducks take to Doyoung much more readily than they do Jeonghan, which isn’t fair, since he’s the one who brought the oats, but he finds he doesn’t really mind.</p><p>“What are you looking at?” Doyoung grins at Jeonghan, a small flock of ducks quacking greedily at his feet. One goes for his shoelaces.</p><p>When Jeonghan pulls him close and kisses him, everything smells like pond water and grass and that warm Doyoung smell. The press of their lips is gentle. Jeonghan might even go so far as to call it chaste. Doyoung tugs coquettishly at Jeonghan’s cardigan as he pulls away, shy and pigeon-toed and sweet, and it gets the tingles going in Jeonghan’s fingertips again.</p><p>Ah, fuck, Jeonghan is in it now. Big time.</p><p><br/>
•</p><p> </p><p>One of the partners calls Jeonghan in on a Saturday. There’s a show tonight.</p><p>He gives them a half day, and no more. No excuses, no overtime. Just a <em> no. </em>It feels good.</p><p>Jeonghan ends up at Minghao’s, the sun going golden in the late afternoon. Jeonghan is already in his show clothes and feels woefully underdressed in his button-down and slut jeans (as Soonyoung delightedly calls them) compared to Minghao’s suit.</p><p>“If you’re not bartending tonight how am I supposed to have any fun?” Jeonghan pouts from his perch at the foot of Minghao’s bed, watching him style his hair in the mirror.</p><p>“Same as always, hyung. Making fun of the bad bands, supporting our friends, and dancing, because you have the most unassumingly strong legs but hate moving more than any other athletic man I’ve ever met.”</p><p>A mental picture of Doyoung plastered with sweat to Jeonghan’s back, thighs cradled together and fingers intertwined, Doyoung breathing down the back of his neck as some band or DJ fills out the lineup, springs unbidden to Jeonghan’s mind and he finds himself wishing it was on the agenda for the day with some degree of wistfulness. Jeonghan is <em> wistful </em>now, like Seungcheol, king of serious relationships and pining, who has eyes like the Precious Moments figure in Joshua’s room. Oof.</p><p>“It’s our anniversary,” Minghao is saying. There’s this pleased little smile that keeps fighting its way onto his face, like he can’t keep all his happiness contained.</p><p>“Has it really been a year already? And you still haven’t brought him over?”</p><p>Minghao hums affirmatively and holds an earring up to his ear thoughtfully, then sets it down to pick up a different one. “He keeps irregular hours, and, more importantly, doesn’t deserve you.”</p><p>Jeonghan barks out a laugh. “To deal with us or the <em> privilege </em>to be around us?”</p><p>“The former,” Minghao says primly. He lets that rest for a few seconds before catching Jeonghan’s eye in the mirror and grinning. “No. I don’t know, we keep meaning to arrange something but the longer we wait the more official it seems and that’s…” He pulls a face and waves a hand.</p><p>“At that point you might as well wait until you get married.”</p><p>“Right, exactly.” There’s an unspoken <em> you get it </em>that lingers comfortably. Minghao hooks freshwater pearls into his ears and fiddles with his hair, glancing again at Jeonghan. “Maybe you can walk me out and meet him.”</p><p>Jeonghan honest-to-God gasps. “And let me lord it over everyone that I’m the only one who’s met your boyfriend?”</p><p>“The second one.”</p><p>“I only gave you one option.”</p><p>Minghao laughs and turns away from the mirror. It only takes a few steps for him to reach Jeonghan and rest one hand on his shoulder. “Mingyu met him at the opening of my art show in the summer. Sorry, hyung.”</p><p>“No loyalty,” Jeonghan whines with disappointment, dramatically wresting his body away from Minghao’s grip and flopping back into his bed.</p><p>“You say it like I’m not constantly comping you drinks,” Minghao singsongs, disappearing into his closet for his jacket.</p><p>And that’s just it. Minghao is just like that; he gives and gives so much of himself that you forget that at his core is someone whose emotions are laid bare in his silence. He gives affection so easily, running a hand over the nape of Seokmin’s neck and enveloping Soonyoung in a hug, using all his sensitivity and consideration to give everyone what they need before they need it. Receives it easily, too, glimmering under compliments and reflecting them back over the bartop with an unyielding sincerity.</p><p>Jeonghan wonders what that’s like. To open himself up to be seen so transparently whether in word or in quiet. To use his powers of observation for good, and to let it open some doors instead of fortifying the embrasure in his chest. Arrows going out, firing at will, with no chance of any coming in and sticking him in the heart.</p><p>He and Minghao are the same, but not where it counts.</p><p>“Myungho-yah,” Jeonghan calls quietly. “You’re in love?”</p><p>Less than a breath later Minghao reappears, long fingers buttoning his jacket at his stomach, nipping it in and highlighting the shape of his tiny waist. He’s so small, lean with security in who he is and the sinew of kindness. He looks at Jeonghan with sparkling eyes, something soft and searching in them, and doesn’t hesitate before sitting on the bed beside him, leaving room for Jeonghan to prop himself up on an elbow.</p><p>“You’ll wrinkle your suit.”</p><p>“He’s seen me in worse,” Minghao says easily. His hand finds Jeonghan’s, thumbprint pressing into the center of his palm, the whorl of it a yakgwa impression. “Yeah. We’re in love.”</p><p>Jeonghan wants to ask what that feels like. He’s not quick enough to tell him he’s happy for him, nor any number of the kind things Minghao deserves to hear. It probably says something that the sincerity sticks in his teeth and Jeonghan can’t get it out, as much as he’d like to.</p><p>“Don’t tell anyone this,” Minghao starts, letting a lopsided smile play on his face when Jeonghan predictably looks at him with curiosity at the turn of phrase. </p><p>Well played. </p><p>Minghao seems unapologetic about what he’s about to say, even despite the gentle pink color blooming over his cheeks and ears. He continues, “But I’m embarrassing when I fall in love. I have dreams, hyung. Vivid ones, that stay with me for days. Half my paintings are just attempts at capturing the way they make me feel, that ‘pounding heart when you wake up’ kind of feeling where you’re all breathless like your body doesn’t know it’s not real yet. And when I speak I speak frankly, like I can’t help it. I don’t hide my emotions. Or can’t, maybe.”</p><p>It seems incongruous to combine this self-described mania with the Minghao Jeonghan knows, so thoughtful and patient. But he is that friend too. He does get excited, all length and vibration like a plucked string. His foot is shaking, fidgety in his colorful socks even now, and there’s a gentle, faraway smile on his face threatening to burst into warm sunlight.</p><p>“Meeting Ten was like… He knew what I was saying before the words even left my mouth. We just fell into something neither of us wanted to stop. So we didn’t, and here we are.”</p><p>Jeonghan meets Minghao’s eye and smiles, squeezing their hands where they’re twined to try to release some of the electric energy that’s suddenly zipping through him. He feels like a superconductor of realization and emotion, some transitive property of Being in Love that went from the energy source in the depths of Minghao’s chest down into their hands like poles, lighting up Jeonghan’s body with blinding light.</p><p>There’s an acute awareness he suddenly has, that listening to someone he knows put words to the emotions that have made a home of his heart — in a way that isn’t seeing Doyoung’s face in Seungkwan’s sappiest love songs playlist or playing Doyoung’s cover videos to fall asleep to — is the kind of validation Jeonghan has never sought before.</p><p>Every day is an exercise in self-evaluation and deciding when and where to allow his true feelings to make themselves known. He strides into the law firm every day with his shoulders drawn back, hair pushed back, feelings pushed down. All his feelings are reserved for his friends, encouragement spilling from his mouth like a fountain, each drop tinted with the swirling color of truth and fear that they can see through his sarcasm to the pulpy, bare heart that lies beneath.</p><p>It might be too late for that fear to find purchase, anyway. Seokmin sees through him. Joshua sees through him. Seungcheol sees through him. Minghao is seeing through him right now, the comforting press of his thumb into his palm searing hot like a brand, petal soft like a kiss. Who is he hiding from?</p><p>Jeonghan knows what he feels for Doyoung is real.</p><p>The feeling itself is not new. But letting himself feel it? That’s definitely new.</p><p>There’s a crisp knock at the door and Minghao unfolds himself in less than a blink, hopping up eagerly and yanking Jeonghan up by the arm unceremoniously.</p><p>“You gonna walk me out, daddy?” Minghao coos, eyes big and bright.</p><p>“That shit doesn’t work on me,” Jeonghan screeches, heat flashing up the back of his neck anyway. He digs in his heels and huffs. “Save it for your boyfriend.”</p><p>Minghao laughs and laughs, his cheeks glowing with joy. “I won’t tell you if it works on him, either.”</p><p>He lets Jeonghan adjust the front section of his bangs at the door. “Oh, God,” Jeonghan mutters as Minghao preens under his attention, reading <em> appa </em> in his expression from the way Minghao is trying to stop laughing, one hand on the doorknob. Love has made him impatient.</p><p>Minghao throws open the door, and it’s like his whole body responds to the sight of a well-dressed Ten in the entry in front of his apartment, in shiny little boots and brandishing an expensive-looking gift bag, looking up at Minghao like he’s more than gift enough. (Even if it were, there’s still a giant package bundled up next to the kitchen table. A painting, Jeonghan would hazard to guess. <em> Capturing the way he feels, </em>with some measure of success.)</p><p>“Jeonghan-hyung?” Ten says, reaching for Minghao’s waist and tugging himself through the doorway, both arms winding around Minghao. The gift bag crinkles against his hip, and Minghao’s lips press to Ten’s temple.</p><p>“Oh, so he can know me?” Jeonghan accuses, but there’s no heat in it. No badgering about honorifics. No more sarcasm. Not when Minghao is glowing like this, settling into his body like he’s more himself with Ten beside him. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”</p><p>“You too!” </p><p>Despite his genuinely excited tone, it’s muffled into Minghao’s jaw, and Jeonghan touches Minghao’s face to take his leave. “Happy anniversary. Have fun tonight. I would say use protection, but I don’t make assumptions, so I’m going to double down on the ‘have fun’ part.”</p><p>Ten laughs from the back of his throat. It draws his features together and lights his face up, a bright mirror of Minghao’s own brand of laughter, even as he’s only rolling his eyes goodnaturedly right now. “Haohao, you were right. I like him already.”</p><p>And that’s—that’s. That’s it. The final nail in the coffin.</p><p>Jeonghan’s throat feels thick, and he touches his forehead first to Minghao’s, then to the side of Ten’s head, since apparently they’re already <em> there </em> with each other. Their sweet smiles echo in his brain nearly as much as the <em> click </em> of the door behind him, a backing track to Jeonghan wondering the whole ride to the venue just how much love he’s allowed.</p><p><br/>
•</p><p> </p><p>Jeonghan knows why Seungkwan and Mingyu cover their faces whenever they watch romantic movies. He really thinks he gets it now. There’s so much embarrassment and, like, vulnerability that you have to power through just watching something like that.</p><p>Living it is a whole other matter entirely.</p><p>Messaging Doyoung to meet up after the show was hard enough, when there was still a chance Jeonghan could dodge this if he received a message that read <em> sorry hyung, gotta go after :-( </em>But, naturally, he received a very earnest <em> yeah of course!!! johnny wanted to walk to get food after anyway! </em>and then he was instantly screwed. Why did he choose to do this?</p><p>A little voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Mingyu’s says, <em> Because that’s what love is, hyung. </em></p><p>Gross.</p><p>Now he’s face to face with him, having watched Doyoung wave salutation to his bandmates in the parking lot as they headed across the street to some Italian place before getting out of his car and letting Doyoung come to him. Trying to have semblance of control over this whole thing, God.</p><p>Jeonghan can’t say anything. Not that he won’t, but he can’t. Everything is stuck in his throat, thick and syrupy like hot dalgona. He barely eked out a hello when Doyoung greeted him, and now Doyoung is looking at him with curiosity and expectation. It’s not heavy, just present, but Jeonghan feels a little buried anyway. He wants to touch Doyoung, let the familiarity of it ground him when his whole body feels like it’s about to shoot into space. </p><p>So he does, toying with the frayed edge of Doyoung’s t-shirt and listening for the intake of air when the backs of his knuckles brushes Doyoung’s bare stomach underneath the cotton.</p><p>“Did you like the show?”</p><p>This is familiar, these fleeting touches over Doyoung’s body and him biting his lip, though normally he doesn’t ask for validation in so many words. </p><p>The show—well. Doyoung has never really been a showboater. Some frontmen holler and swing mics and whip their shirts off, but Doyoung moves like a cat on the prowl, with purpose, and tonight was. Something else. </p><p>Neo Culture debuted a new song. They fucking <em>opened</em> with it, and it went off like a bomb. Explosive and longing and <em> sexy, </em>rippling through the crowd with Jaehyun’s thrumming bass line and Johnny’s sly grin. Lucas took off his own shirt during Mark’s guitar solo, draping it over his narrow shoulders like a cape, and you could tell from the look on his face that Mark felt every part a hero.</p><p>And Doyoung. Tongue curling over canines, he licked through lyrics like love letters, head tossed back and the line of his neck exposed, fingertips dragging over his throat. His voice was sultry and powerful, singing sweet from the root like sugarcane, as he glided through verse after verse. It was obvious he was calling to someone, some muse or another. And on that final chorus, Doyoung ran his eyes over the crowd and spied Jeonghan, pressed flat from the first chord, and his face went painfully soft, teeth sinking into his lip and eyes raking over him and voice licking the goddamn seal, closing the envelope, and mouthing Jeonghan’s address across the front.</p><p>He’s not a pick-me. Not for boys in a noise band.</p><p>Maybe for Doyoung, though.</p><p>So Jeonghan gazed back up at the stage and let his whole body sing back. Signed, sealed, and fucking delivered. </p><p>Jeonghan knows he’s given himself away before he even speaks. “How far did you think you would get, fishing for compliments with me?”</p><p>Doyoung’s eyebrows knit together. “You’re mad at me.” </p><p>“Yes,” Jeonghan says in a way that clearly means <em> no, I’m not, </em>sliding his hands under Doyoung’s t-shirt, spreading them out wide over his little waist. “You’re. Ugh.”</p><p>“You’re mad because you like me.” Doyoung’s confused face lights up with recognition, eyes warming and gummy smile bright even in the dim parking lot. The sun has been down for hours, and even then Jeonghan thinks it’ll stay up as long as this smile is shining on him.</p><p>Instead of answering, Jeonghan pushes Doyoung away, looking down into the middle distance. He sees his feet and Doyoung’s, their toes almost touching between them. <em> “No,” </em> Jeonghan whines after some silence, “God. Are we wearing the same shoes?”</p><p>Doyoung looks down suddenly, his forehead clearing Jeonghan’s by a literal hair’s width. Jeonghan doesn’t think he could stand it if he had to explain to a medical professional that he was taken down unceremoniously by Doyoung’s sturdy skull while trying and failing miserably to confess. As it is, he seems to be afflicted with some sort of arrhythmia or other unnameable heart condition. If only he had gone to medical school instead of law.</p><p>“Yeah,” Doyoung says after a beat. He’s still <em> smiling. </em> “That’s cute.”</p><p>“I know!” Jeonghan whines again, louder. He stomps his foot for good measure, because if he’s going to throw a tantrum he’s going all in. He has a brief vision of stepping on Doyoung’s foot and pulls his foot back just a little, stomping it again in a Doyoung-free range. “What the fuck!”</p><p>There are only two ways this can go.</p><p>The first is his usual M.O. He can run.</p><p>He can do what he’s always done and call it quits while he’s ahead, and hurl a cannon over the edge of the battlement and keep his clothes clean, turning away so he doesn’t have to watch the carnage.</p><p>The second—</p><p>Jeonghan fists his hands in the front of Doyoung’s shirt, two handfuls of screenprinted cotton, and tugs him in. The kiss is hot and deep, and kind of knocks the wind out of Jeonghan, the plush press of Doyoung’s smile against Jeonghan’s lips soft, the pressure of his tongue more restrained than usual. It’s like he’s holding back, and even the nip of his teeth against Jeonghan’s lower lip is sweet. Jeonghan can’t tell if he’s doing it to be a tease or to be gentle, and either option simultaneously ignites and settles something in Jeonghan’s chest.</p><p>“Yes,” Jeonghan huffs. “More than anticipated. Don’t let it go to your head.”</p><p>Doyoung winds his arms around Jeonghan’s waist and kisses him again, and again, and Jeonghan thinks he could die here, under the buzzing parking lot light, being kissed to high heaven by Kim Dongyoung. But Doyoung does what he does best, and catches Jeonghan off guard. </p><p>“Are you available to fuck me right now?” he asks breathlessly.</p><p>Jeonghan barks out a laugh in surprise. “Yes,” he says, “Yes, Jesus, I am <em> available. </em> I like you so much, I’d rail you against my car if you wanted me to.”</p><p>“Candid,” Doyoung laughs, cheeks flushed, “But I can do you one better.”</p><p>He brandishes keys, with only some struggle due to the rapidly tightening fit of his jeans, and jerks his head toward a familiar-looking van.</p><p>Jeonghan pulls a face and groans, but is already pulling Doyoung toward the van. “What do you take me for? In the band van and everything. God, Doyoung, if your shirt isn’t off in the next five seconds I’m going to take my agreement back.”</p><p>Doyoung has one hand on the key turning the lock on the swingdoors in the back of the van and the other at the back of his shirt before Jeonghan even finishes talking. Jeonghan lets out a strangled noise when the t-shirt is tossed onto the worn carpet lining the floor of the van before they’re even inside.</p><p>“I fucking knew it. You’re so hot. I can’t stand you,” Jeonghan whines, running his hands over the softly defined muscles at Doyoung’s abdomen and pushing him onto his back into a haphazard pile of blankets, seemingly strategically placed. “You do this a lot?”</p><p>“Not me. S’Johnny’s van. Hence the scent,” Doyoung says in explanation, bare chest heaving as he scoots back gingerly and tucks his legs into the van in full, a yellow-orangey light cast through the little windows onto his half-naked body. Jeonghan shuts the swingdoors, and Doyoung takes the opportunity to add, “And you and I have been exclusive for almost six months.”</p><p>The matter-of-fact way he says it jumpstarts Jeonghan’s heart. Like he knew the whole time. Like he’s been sure, like he was waiting for this. “Legally you have to tell me if you’re a witch who used a love potion on me,” he mutters.</p><p>Doyoung laughs. “That’s all on you, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“Damn.”</p><p>Jeonghan crawls over Doyoung’s body and fits their mouths together again. Before long they’re panting too much to kiss, and Doyoung is unbuttoning and unzipping and shoving at waistbands, hissing and sighing at the hot, hard press of them together through their underwear.</p><p>Doyoung rolls his hips up and moans. “Wanna feel you inside me already, hyung.”</p><p>God. Talk about an offer you can’t refuse. “You have lube?”</p><p>“Ah,” Doyoung starts, eyebrows knitting together when he lets out a long, ragged breath. “Ah, a little.”</p><p>“What do you mean, a little?” Jeonghan asks, sitting back on his heels and teasing at Doyoung’s cock through his underwear, his other hand at Doyoung’s temple. “How am I supposed to open you up with ‘a little’ lube?”</p><p>Doyoung catches his lower lip between his teeth, pushing down his briefs and hitching a thigh over Jeonghan’s hip. “Just—”</p><p>Jeonghan’s hand trails down. His fingers nudge something warm and smooth. Stainless steel. Doyoung gasps, a hard inhale, and Jeonghan matches it, a flare of arousal going through his body at the feeling. Very suddenly and viscerally Jeonghan knows what got into Doyoung tonight. Literally, too. </p><p>“Please tell me Johnny doesn’t know about this,” Jeonghan breathes.</p><p>The humor has dropped from Doyoung’s face, though, replaced by pure desperation. His face screws up and his jaw drops open when Jeonghan hooks his middle finger through the little ring at the base and pulls and pushes at it ever-so-slightly. He’s gone silent, back arching and nodding frantically, spurring Jeonghan on, and his hands are scrabbling around the side pocket under the window. Minutes pass, then, with Doyoung’s fist closed around an almost-empty bottle of lube and sharp, nasal whines of pleasure rushing through his nose as Jeonghan works the plug back and forth, likely nudging his prostate, by the state of him. Jeonghan could watch sweat gather in Doyoung’s collarbones and down his chest forever, could keep leaning forward and licking it off his skin like this, filthy and <em> good. </em></p><p>“Jeonghannie-hyung, give me your <em> cock,” </em>Doyoung manages, and, well, fuck. </p><p>Jeonghan eases the plug out as fast as possible and pushes down his underwear. “Of course, Doie,” he says, voice breathy with affect.</p><p>Tremors spark through Doyoung’s hands as he passes over the lube and a condom, and Jeonghan has to unscrew the whole cap with condom-slick fingers to get enough out to push into Doyoung’s hole and smear over himself. “‘A little’ is right. You are so lucky,” Jeonghan says, lining himself up.</p><p>“I kno-o-oh, <em> fuck,” </em>Doyoung cries out when Jeonghan sinks into him, slowly but all at once. Like falling in love.</p><p>It’s like time stops.</p><p>Doyoung is shaking but grinning at Jeonghan, his confidence emanating from him like an aura or whatever Jun said Aquarians have. “So good,” he says, like he means it.</p><p>Jeonghan has to catch his fucking breath. He shoves his face into Doyoung’s chest and tries not to chase that wet heat around him, but it’s so—</p><p>“God. You look so hot,” Doyoung grins, eyes sparkling and jaw tightening when Jeonghan’s hips snap forward at the compliment. “How’d I know that’d motivate you?”</p><p>“Oh, fuck off,” Jeonghan laughs, thumbing over Doyoung’s nipple and starting his pace with a slow grind.</p><p>Doyoung’s matching laugh tapers into a hiss through his teeth, whining out a breathy little, “Hyung,” and wriggling under the press of Jeonghan’s hips and hands to try to coax him in deeper.</p><p>And when Doyoung leans up to kiss Jeonghan, it turns into a sharp little exhale against his mouth, Jeonghan’s tongue running over his lower lip and trying not to give in so easily. But it’s hard, when Doyoung’s looking at him with those eyes and smiling at him like this and whispering his name like that. </p><p>It’s hard to convince himself he doesn’t want this, that it’s not worth being scared. Scared to let Doyoung in, scared to tell his friends, scared to feel the things that he wants to feel, scared to <em> like </em>it.</p><p>Doyoung makes things seem like they could be simple. For all his neuroses and his shy little way when they talk sometimes, there’s an honesty and vulnerability to him that instills a great fear and awe in Jeonghan. And Jeonghan doesn’t have any room to judge his idiosyncrasies; he’s definitely particular, too. He works at a law firm. You have to be, for those kinds of things.</p><p>“Hey, um,” Jeonghan says quietly, stilling. “What’s your day job?”</p><p>Looking at Jeonghan curiously, Doyoung tilts his head to one side. His eyelashes flutter and he lets out a gasp when Jeonghan leans forward to look into his eyes closer, probably because Jeonghan’s hand slides over his cock where it’s pushed up against his stomach, smearing wetness over his stomach. It probably says something that Jeonghan didn’t even mean to. He just wants to know, is imagining Doyoung in soft little sweaters and some cute glasses, oh, shit, maybe a <em> polo, </em>spinning a pen in his hand instead of the mic cord. </p><p>Maybe he’s done some imagining more than once. Who’s counting?</p><p>“I work at a bakery,” Doyoung says. His voice is a little breathy, but he’s smiling, sweet and shy. “I go in early and bake for the day, stock the cases and trams, and then I go home and knock out after the breakfast rush. S’why it always seems like I’m booty calling you at six in the morning. Sorry.”</p><p>Jeonghan laughs, a big full-body one, and Doyoung’s face contorts and his hips bear down on where Jeonghan’s still hard inside him. Oh, honey.</p><p>“Explains why you’re so unnecessarily strong. Tired of boys with glamour muscles. Glad I found you,” Jeonghan mutters honestly, reveling in the bashful pride that washes over Doyoung’s face. He revels even more in the slack-jawed want that replaces it when he resumes lazily rolling into him.</p><p>“Ah, <em> ah—” </em>Doyoung’s hands scrabble at Jeonghan’s shoulders, pushing up into his hair. </p><p>His kingdom for a headband. </p><p><em> “Hyung,” </em>Doyoung moans, fingers tightening and breathing hard into Jeonghan’s mouth, shuddering with each lewd snap of Jeonghan’s hips.</p><p>On second thought, this works just fine.</p><p>Jeonghan gets one hand on the window behind Doyoung’s head and one between them, fingers sliding down the length of Doyoung’s torso to wrap around and jack him off. The angle’s not perfect, but Doyoung is biting at Jeonghan’s bottom lip like he’s trying to chomp back the desperate little whines he’s letting out, and—wait. </p><p>Oh, <em> God, </em> that’s <em> him. He’s </em> the one gasping glowing nonsense into Doyoung’s messy kisses, his hand speeding up between their bellies and his hips grinding into Doyoung. Those are <em> his </em> soothing little whispers tearing ragged from his throat, <em> his </em>wicked compliments murmured flush against the cupid’s bow of Doyoung’s beautiful mouth, the very same one that pulled back its string and launched a dart into his chest weeks and weeks ago.</p><p>How did Jeonghan never notice the puncture wound?</p><p>Doyoung’s pretty litany of <em> hyung hyung hyung fuck me fuck me oh fuck! </em> is less prayer, more arpeggio, his lilt floating through the notes like he’s running through a chorus to the bridge. Jeonghan presses his sweaty forehead against Doyoung’s, their hair plastering itself onto each other’s skin, and he slides his foggy handprint down the window to hitch Doyoung’s thigh up a little more. Doyoung breathes, “Hyung, I’m gonna—I’m, <em> please </em>make me—” and Jeonghan feels his hips notch deeper at the sound, and Doyoung’s voice is swinging up the scale into an airy, fractured moan, his body trembling as he comes, as he spills and spills between Jeonghan’s fingers.</p><p>The shaking sound of his orgasm subsiding after what feels like a devastating eternity, Doyoung’s hands let go of their grip on the roots of Jeonghan’s hair and just press against his scalp, wide and gentle. One palms the cradle of his head, the other moves down to grip Jeonghan’s wrist and tug it up to his lips.</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Doyoung murmurs against the delicate skin at the inside of Jeonghan’s wrist, soft like the honesty might spook Jeonghan. </p><p>He kisses the blue ivory of it, then presses the flat of his tongue over the pulse point. Doyoung’s tongue slides up, velvet-careful over the heartline of Jeonghan’s palm, and swipes between Jeonghan’s fingers, cleaning off his own come where it stripes the first few fingers of Jeonghan’s hand. The sensation of it and the sated, heavy look in Doyoung’s eyes press Jeonghan’s hips into Doyoung deep, an accident that feels so <em> good, </em> oh, <em> no. </em></p><p>Doyoung hiccups in surprise, jerking with oversensitivity.</p><p>“Ah, no, I’m sorry—”</p><p>“You wanna come in my mouth?” Doyoung asks quietly. His eyes squeeze shut for a second when Jeonghan’s hips stutter again before he finally pulls out, but it’s Doyoung’s careful fingers that strip off the condom, stuffing it with a stupid crinkle into a paper grocery bag tied to the headrest of one of the middle seats. Dedicated trash area, very clever. “Come on, hyung, come in my mouth.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck me,” Jeonghan bites out when he kicks up onto his knees to jerk off over Doyoung’s face where his tongue is sticking out, hand stroking himself hard and fast, fuck, he’s close, he’s <em> close. </em></p><p>“I mean, yeah, if you want. You’re just gonna have to give me a minute.”</p><p>And despite himself Jeonghan comes laughing, his face probably matching the dopey, delighted grin on Doyoung’s face and watching the tip of his tongue curling up, seeing it come away clean when his throat bobs.</p><p>“If—if you tell me come is some sort of throat coat thing for singers I’m going to bite your dick off,” Jeonghan pants as he shuffles back down, tugging his underwear back up and wiggling back into his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned. His words are barbless, and he’s shoving his smile into the crook of Doyoung’s neck, trying to fit his teeth into the imprints he already left there.</p><p>“I wish I had thought of that excuse the first time I swallowed for you. Would make me seem a little less desperate for it, huh?”</p><p>God, Jeonghan likes Doyoung so much. “I like it. I liked it then, too.”</p><p>Doyoung laughs a little. “I could tell. You couldn’t look me in the eye afterward.”</p><p>“No, that was because I called you ‘baby’ and I got embarrassed,” Jeonghan shoots back, realizing half a second after it’s out of his mouth that that might be more revealing than intended.</p><p>To his credit, Doyoung just runs his hand up and down the knobs of Jeonghan’s spine, apparently not caring that his shirt is soaked through with sweat and sticking a little to the planes of his back. </p><p>“You keep all your cards close to your chest, huh? Is that all lawyers or just you?”</p><p>“I’m not a lawyer,” Jeonghan says, but smiles anyway and shrugs. “I’m just private when it counts.”</p><p>Doyoung nods. “I can understand that. I mean. Neither of us told anybody about… us, right? We were on the same page, even without talking about it.”</p><p>Disbelief flickers over Jeonghan’s face, even as he registers it to be true. “You kept it secret too? The whole time?”</p><p>“From everyone except Taeyongie-hyung. He saw your shoes next to mine when you came over. I just… didn’t want those assholes to scare you away,” Doyoung admits. “I love them, but they can get a certain way when I bring a boyfriend around.”</p><p>Relief melts down Jeonghan’s spine at that. A relief and a possessiveness, something wickedly delighted at the fact that they were both sneaking around, keeping this just for them. That this was important enough to both of them to warrant that. </p><p>Then, a pause.</p><p>“A boyfriend?” Jeonghan says carefully, fingertips running over the bite marks littering Doyoung’s bare shoulder.</p><p>Doyoung’s gaze flits away from Jeonghan’s face, then, his expression steeling in that detached way again. Like the bad boy lead in one of Mingyu’s dramas, all sexy and stoic. Only it doesn’t really feel sexy, especially compared to what they just did. It just kind of aches. Is this what Jeonghan does when he throws up his guard and dodges questions from his friends? That sucks. Jeonghan drags his fingertips up further, skating up the side of Doyoung’s neck to nudge at his jaw. He probably has some apologies to dole out.</p><p>When Doyoung’s head tips back down and he meets Jeonghan’s eyes at close range, Jeonghan sighs into his mouth, a ghost of a kiss. “I like boyfriend,” he murmurs against Doyoung’s lips where they’re parted. An admission, quiet and theirs. “C’mon, Doie. Don’t make me do all the work.”</p><p>Something sparks back into Doyoung’s eyes, then, slow like an ember flaring back up, and his tongue darts out, traces the convex meniscus of Jeonghan’s bottom lip, measuring it quickly, sealing it with a firm, wanting kiss.</p><p>“You mean it?”</p><p>“Yes, I do.” </p><p>Doyoung scrounges around and manages to locate his shirt, wriggling awkwardly back into his clothes, too, much to Jeonghan’s chagrin.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have let me see you without a shirt on,” Jeonghan singsongs. “It’s a crime, I’m sure, and I have the means to prove it.”</p><p>They tumble back out of the van and try to regain some presentability. It’s not promising, but they deserve some credit for the attempt.</p><p>While Doyoung is trying to smooth out Jeonghan’s collar, Jeonghan confesses quietly, “Thought you weren’t real for a while.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Like, you lived in my YouTube watch history,” Jeonghan half-laughs, “and in the strobes here.” He doesn’t know how to say he was scared to build Doyoung out of something more serious than buzzing lights and fluttering eyelashes like mothwings, how to confess that he had hoped he was flame enough to keep Doyoung coming.</p><p>“I know what you mean.”</p><p>“But I guess it wouldn’t have been fair of me to come after you, guns blazing, for keeping me at a distance when I was the same way for so long.”</p><p>The evidence was laid out early. He had just missed it. Jeonghan fancied Doyoung some sort of noise band Cinderella when really he was the one always running off after gigs with nary so much as a shoe for Doyoung to cling to. Doyoung says they were on the same page, and they were, but it’s hard for Jeonghan not to imagine what would have happened if they weren’t.</p><p>“I really do work early. I filmed the cover I sent you at the café before opening. The seating area has surprisingly good acoustics.”</p><p>Jeonghan smiles. “Maybe we can see each other in the daytime again and I can smell the bread on you.”</p><p>“I do know how into post-work naps you are,” Doyoung smiles back, and Jeonghan envisions napping together for real, a little too heavy and a little too sweaty for midmorning, wonders if he would be able to resist the light streaming through the blinds on Doyoung’s face, imagines the gold again, this time unafraid to press his lips to it under the glow of the sun.</p><p>A laden second passes between them, and Jeonghan can’t look at Doyoung’s swollen mouth or the marks he left all up and down his neck anymore. He averts his gaze to the rest of the low-lit parking lot. There’s a scrape of white paint low on the passenger side of the Neo Culture van, cleverly disguised through a little extra paint detail as a shooting star, a few planets and evocative designs feathering it back out into the black body paint.</p><p>Jeonghan’s eyes widen and he tries not to think about the matching streak of black on his side mirror.</p><p>Of course Doyoung catches it, running his fingers over the comet. “Johnny asked Ten to do something with it, said something about the plot of <em> Cars 2 </em> saying that keeping dents was important in a metaphorical sense but he still wanted to dress it up.”</p><p>Feeling a little hysterical, Jeonghan laughs. “Soonyoung would have a lot to say about that, I think. The amount of times I’ve been privy to <em> Cars-</em>related conversations is innumerable.”</p><p>Doyoung grins and hooks his finger into one of Jeonghan’s beltloops. “I think our friends get along really well.”</p><p>He doesn’t say <em> would, </em>and Jeonghan knows why; it’s because they already do. It’s an inevitability that Jeonghan has been trying to sneak around like a child spy, clumsy-footed and unsure why he’s doing it in the first place. Minghao and Ten are two halves of the same being, music and poetry and something sublime linking them, and Seokmin and Mingyu have been figuring out their relationship with Jaehyun for almost as long as he and Doyoung have been together.</p><p><em> He and Doyoung are together. </em>It hits Jeonghan like a truck.</p><p>“What are you smiling about?” asks Doyoung. He’s smiling too.</p><p>“I just feel good,” Jeonghan says, and he leans in to kiss Doyoung again. “I gotta go help my friends load up. But we can talk some more later?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>It’s a little wild how simple it all seems now, how all that tension and worry feel so removed from the real situation. Jeonghan is good at talking people into things — and himself out of things, apparently. But it was all conjecture.</p><p>He feels back to himself when he makes it around the corner to the loading dock by the Diamond truck, where his friends are all waiting for him, instrument cases leaned up against the bricks.</p><p>“Hannie,” Seungcheol says, face drawn, “We need to talk.”</p><p>Jeonghan snorts. “Uh, okay. What’s up?”</p><p>“We’ve let all of this go on for a while because we know how you are. But you haven’t talked to <em> any </em>of us about it,” Seungcheol continues. </p><p>What impeccable timing. Seungcheol always was too good for his own good. Jeonghan sighs. “Just because I’m not constantly talking about my <em> feelings–” </em></p><p>“I know. That’s not who you are. We’re not going to force you to talk to us about it, but—you know, the community center Hansolie works at is hiring a legal assistant, and Jihoon knows the name of the copyright lawyer for the studio… You know? There are options. It’s been months. We know you loved working at the firm, but…”</p><p>Pieces of that sentence don’t seem right. Jeonghan’s brain whirrs, fragments falling together like petals, and he gasps when he figures it out. “Wait. Hold on. You all think I <em> lost my job?” </em> Jeonghan says, bewildered.</p><p>Seungcheol blinks. “Well, yeah. You were suddenly responding to messages at weird hours when you used to stay late at work, but you weren’t at home. And you stopped talking about case research as an excuse to not come to shows anymore.”</p><p>Crossing and uncrossing his legs from where he’s perched on the loading dock, Joshua says, “What <em> I’m </em> hearing is, whatever the reason, you let us buy you dinner and drinks for like, five months, for no reason.”</p><p>“I thought you were finally appreciating my invaluable friendship in a material way. Just happy to see me,” Jeonghan mutters, extremely wary of where this conversation is headed.</p><p>“We were worried about you!”</p><p>“I didn’t ask you to be!”</p><p>Jeonghan tugs the cuffs of his sleeves over his hands, nails picking at ragged threads as he wraps his fists in the wrinkled fabric. This feels an awful lot like an intervention. Mortification is starting to set in.</p><p>“You just… seemed really embarrassed by the whole thing, so we figured…” Seokmin trails off. The worried look knotted on his face under his smudged-out eyeliner twists something in Jeonghan’s chest. He feels bad for making his friends worry about him, and even worse for not even realizing it. How did he spend months sneaking around with a boy and pushing down his feelings and expect his friends not to notice he was hiding something?</p><p>“What are you looking at? You keep looking around like something’s gonna jump out at you,” Soonyoung says.</p><p>“Or like— oh, my <em> God. </em>Who are you meeting here?” Jihoon accuses accurately, like an asshole.</p><p>Jeonghan blanches and pointedly does not look at Johnny’s van, and catches himself, his mouth opening compulsively for a lie. Why is his first instinct always self-preservation?</p><p>He’s kind of tired of doing that. He wants to talk to his friends about his boyfriend. Huh. That’s kind of nice.</p><p>There’s something supportive about the way Joshua’s smile is gentle even as he chides, “You’re the most transparent bitch on Earth, Hannie.” </p><p>“Fucking—hang <em> on, </em> okay?” Jeonghan mutters, cupping his hands around his mouth and facing Johnny’s van in full. <em> “Doie!” </em>he yells, as loud as he can, which admittedly is not very loud, but the night is pretty quiet out here, all the noise and music trapped inside the venue. It cuts through the thick of the fog starting to roll in under the streetlights, and illuminates everything in softness.</p><p>Somewhat expectedly, Seokmin shrieks at close range, <em> “What?!” </em>piercing the air as Doyoung ducks his head out from behind the van, Johnny’s face following.</p><p>Even from this far away Jeonghan can see that Doyoung’s eyebrows are drawn together curiously, a smile breaking open his face when he spots Jeonghan with his hands still up around his mouth. Jeonghan can count from memory, knows his tongue has met the ridges of all his teeth and the sweet expanse of his gums, but he’s beginning to let himself just <em> feel </em> that fluttery feeling in his chest seeing them again. </p><p>They last kissed five minutes ago and he already wants to do it again. In front of all his friends and everything. A lot is changing what feels like very quickly, but if Jeonghan thinks about it, he’s wanted this for a while. </p><p>Some things are long overdue. </p><p>He waves his hand to beckon them over. “Come here!”</p><p>Mingyu is gaping at Jeonghan, both hands clinging to Seokmin’s arm, but the other faces are all heat-locked onto Doyoung and Johnny when they walk over, long-legged and interested.</p><p>“Damn, there are more of you than I thought,” Johnny says, mouth caught somewhere between a grin and a frown. His arm slings around Seungcheol’s waist, and Seungcheol startles and pinkens but also doesn’t move to pull away.</p><p>“You have no room to talk, Youngho. You have quite literally 20 friends and bandmates around you at any given time, so why are you feeling up mine?” Jeonghan aims it at Johnny, but is very pointedly making eyes at Doyoung, who is doing a poor job at stifling a smile. Jeonghan’s skin feels electric.</p><p>From up on the delivery platform Joshua fake-gags, finger on his tongue and all; at whose shiny eyes, Jeonghan’s not sure, but he can’t tear his gaze from the shuffle of Doyoung’s feet as he toes around one of the tire stoppers at the end of a vacant parking space. His whole body is always swaying in a breeze, and Jeonghan wants to breathe it in. Doyoung raises an eyebrow, the hopeful tug of his lips asking Jeonghan if he really means it. Jeonghan answers it with his usual shrug, but reaches his hand out for Doyoung’s, using it to tug him in close and smile against his smile, gathering their fingers together at Doyoung’s hipbone in his jeans before turning him around.</p><p>“I don’t know if I even want you to say it,” Jihoon says, half to a laugh, lips pressed together. It dimples his cheeks close to the corners of his mouth, like when he’s trying not to indulge Jeonghan but has ended up doing it anyway.</p><p>“I love attention, but I’m not making some dramatic announcement,” Jeonghan says, hopping up onto the cement stopper to hook his chin over Doyoung’s shoulder. “Take from this what you will.”</p><p>What happens next is a whirlwind. </p><p>One of Doyoung’s hands finds the small of Jeonghan’s back, the other behind his neck, cradling the back of his head, and in a <em> one-and-two-and </em>half count, Doyoung’s arms are flexing in his t-shirt as he sweeps Jeonghan off the stopper into a low dip, kissing him like his life depends on it. Jeonghan laughs into his mouth and ignores the rest of the cacophony around him, much preferring the music of Doyoung’s breath mingling with his.</p><p> </p><p>•</p><p> </p><p>Yoon Jeonghan is well acquainted with work-life balance. </p><p>Sure, he’s been skewing a little stronger toward the <em> life </em>part more recently, but what’s that proverb? Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life?</p><p>Chan says this is what it’s all about, and no one is about to contradict him, especially with Wonwoo and Seungkwan flanking him.</p><p>Exhibit A:</p><p>Diamond’s new set might be their best yet.</p><p>The number of supporters cheering for them has seemingly doubled virtually overnight, but Jeonghan knows it’s simply because Neo Culture and Diamond’s overlapping street team is probably thirty-four strong with full turnout. On a good night, that number’s a little closer to fifteen, but Jeonghan recognizes a lot more faces than he used to.</p><p>Seungcheol is staring just above his eyeline, vice grip on the two-thirds-empty bottle of Hite in his hand, having just watched Johnny effortlessly lift Taeyong by the waist to his other side so Johnny can run a delicate finger down the side of Seungcheol’s face.</p><p>To his credit, Seungcheol presses a hand to the center of Johnny’s chest above his heart, settling it slowly over his pectorals in his well-fitting shirt and laughs sweetly, murmuring something Jeonghan can’t hear. Aegyo charm level 1000.</p><p>Johnny grins and tilts his head just a little, and the round timbre of his voice cuts through the crowd.</p><p>“Babe, all you gotta do is ask,” he responds with a weirdly sincere coo, and Jeonghan snorts but feels pleased anyway watching Seungcheol’s face light up, his smile turning low and purposeful.</p><p>Exhibit B:</p><p>Jaehyun watches Diamond from the side of the stage, a smitten smile gracing his handsome features while Seokmin belts Jihoon and Hansol’s newest lyrics like they were made for him. </p><p>And, yeah, they kind of were.</p><p>Between songs Mingyu whoops the loudest, which sets the dimples in Jaehyun’s cheeks even deeper and turns Seokmin’s smile from sunny to blinding, one big feedback loop of musician and audience and partner. Joshua introduces their next song, Jun’s anticipatory chord winding everyone up, and Seokmin spins on one foot, arms out wide, as Jaehyun and Mingyu’s voices crescendo with the rest of the crowd into unwavering support and praise.</p><p>Never in your life will you see a more joyous rock star.</p><p>Exhibit C:</p><p>“Yaah! Mark fighting!” yells Mina from her throne on Mingyu’s shoulders, hands cupped around her mouth. With her hair pulled back like this her ears stick out sweetly, and her legs are hooked under Mingyu’s arms for balance.</p><p>Mutual friends abound.</p><p>Onstage where Neo Culture is almost done setting up, Mark laughs where he’s tuning. Lucas whispers something into his ear on his way to his seat at the kit, turning Mark from his perpetual pretty petal pink to a shade of coral that may very well be bioluminescent.</p><p>Everything is swathed in neon green, and Jeonghan ducks and swerves his way to the front of the crowd as Johnny darts onstage, heaving breaths into the mic.</p><p>“We ready?”</p><p>Exhibit D: </p><p>Doyoung blows a flying kiss from onstage, catching his tongue between his teeth, and Jeonghan grins and winks back.</p><p>This is going to be fun.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading!</p><p>find me on <a href="http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3">twitter</a> and <a href="http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/">curiouscat</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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